


Looking for Freedom

by QueenoftheBritons



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), BAMF Merlin (Merlin), BAMF Morgana (Merlin), BAMF Ygraine (Merlin), Canon Rewrite, Confused Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff, Good Mordred (Merlin), Good Morgana (Merlin), Hurt Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Merlioske-friendly, Morgana's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Redeemed Nimueh, Uther Pendragon's A+ Parenting (Merlin), capable arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 61,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25688797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheBritons/pseuds/QueenoftheBritons
Summary: Uther has died and is succeed by Arthur, reluctant but determined to make good choices for his kingdom. When the new king tries to take a break from Camelot just for an afternoon, he runs into an idiot who he can't quite seem to shake off. Unfortunately for him, that idiot is also a sorcerer; what will he reveal to Arthur about the truth behind the Great Purge and Magic's Defender?
Relationships: Aglain & Merlin, Balinor & Nimueh (Merlin), Balinor & Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Balinor/Hunith (Merlin), Gwen & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwen & Leon (Merlin), Gwen & Morgana (Merlin), Leon & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Mordred & Morgana (Merlin), Morgana & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Ygraine de Bois & Nimueh (Merlin)
Comments: 62
Kudos: 260





	1. Prologue: It's a Love Story

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a repost! I posted this around June/July, but due to several issues, I had to delete it and rework a lot of things, which are hopefully okay now! 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys it, even if you've already read some of it (if you do, the kudos button isn't far away, and feel free to leave a comment).  
> Edit: I'll be updating this **twice** weekly, so every Monday and Thursday, be here! :)
> 
> This chapter is the longest, just to set the scene.

****

**Dear King Arthur**

I was happy to hear of your recent coronation, as

your father was a rather stubborn man, I’m sure you’ll agree;

I hope you are not so blind as he.

Your father’s reign was filled with a precarious peace,

won by war and drenched in blood.

Perhaps you will learn the lessons that he could not,

that wars offer only temporary solutions.

You would do well to follow a different path regarding magic.

**\- Magic’s Defender**

* * *

Arthur tied his horse to a nearby tree, taking in his work and wondering if his servant might be proud that it took less than three attempts. George would praise him for just about anything, though, so it often meant nothing. Putting his arms on his hips as he checked the fastenings once more, just to be sure they were secure, Arthur still would not have minded the empty compliments right now.

His arms dropped to his sides with a drop of breath, as if they were rather heavy weights, and he finally took his eyes from the horse who seemed disinterested in his innermost thoughts and feelings. He scanned the forest around him, taking in the fresh scent of silence, nature offering a calming wave over him already, leaving the memory of the bustling Camelot at the back of his mind. Holding a hand over his eyes as he stared upwards, he noticed birds’ wings flap over him, as they hopped to one tree and another, singing to each other as the few leaves high above the ground barely moved; the sky was empty of clouds, and with only the hint of a breeze against his already warm skin, the trees were his only shield against the boiling heat of the beaming sun shining almost directly on top of him.

The material of the humble outfit he had managed to persuade Guinevere, Morgana’s servant (who was a lot more pleasant than his own), to let him borrow felt strange on him, the only familiar part being the dark cloak which sat comfortably over his shoulders. His clothes had always been so regal that he felt wrong in this, already having gone over in disgusting detail what his father might say if he could see him, but he hoped he might have the time to get used to them; he had only been king now for two months, had been preparing for it for most of his life, but already the choices he had to make weighed on his mind too much. As his eyes continued to scan the forest where he stood in a strange sort of trance, he could not help but hope that this feeling of peace might not be so brief, and he knew he would be out here again when he got the chance.

The feet beneath him began to move aimlessly, following the sounds of the forest without a map of any kind. Although he had planned to escape his kingdom for a little while, that was as far as the planning went, since most of the time he had to work out a way to distract George for long enough. It was pleasant to be able to take his time wandering, without his manservant hovering too close to him, breathing in his every word, his every breath. Sometimes, he was worse than the stress of being king.

Unfortunately, Arthur’s luck, as it often did, ran out quickly. His feet came to an abrupt stop as his ears pricked up, the sounds of birdsong disappearing, replaced with the deep growling of what he knew was likely trouble. Despite the situation, he heaved a sigh, before trudging his way towards whatever was already ruining his peaceful trip. Carefully, his eyes caught the movement of a few men, and as he moved a little closer, he was able to assess the situation properly. He almost let out a whistle, eyes settling on the boy who was encircled by at least seven men, possibly more in the shadows. There was no action yet, though, and Arthur ducked behind a tree swiftly, leaning against it to get even a little closer to hear the commotion.

The bandits were scruffy, as much dirt on their faces as their clothes, their knees in particular covered in mud as they had crouched for a time, waiting to prey on the next victim to walk down that path. Now they stared at the boy they picked, some wearing a leery sneer, whilst others bared their teeth like aggressive dogs, waiting for him to make the wrong move. They were impatient, stepping a little closer with each passing moment, but their victim had yet to make a move.

His clothes were cheap and shabby, a thin jacket that was useful at this time, but in the winter would be just as useful as no jacket at all. The faded red scarf he wore might have offered more protection, but even that was of a low quality, and the bandits knew they were not going to gain riches from this boy before them. Still, half the fun was in the capture, and they always had other uses for those unlikely to be missed. The leader grinned with sinister eyes, drinking the boy’s appearance in as the options ran through his mind.

For his part, the victim looked less like a victim, and more like someone suffering an irritating inconvenience. His breath was measured, and he stood perfectly still, not taking his eyes from the man directly in front of him, but he did not rush to bend over and plead for his life. This only made some of the men around him even more impatient, but the leader offered a chuckle at the sight, enjoying the challenge more than anything.

“Listen, boy,” he growled with yellow teeth, “you know what we want.”

The boy nodded, but said nothing.

“’and over whatever you’ve got, an’ we might just let you go.” His voice was gruff, worn by the many times he had made such a threat to innocents on the road.

“If you don’t leave now,” the boy spoke up, with a controlled smile as the words left him in a low, strong tone. “Then I won’t be so kind.”

A laugh rose then, and the leader of the bandits rose his eyebrows in genuine surprise, “I like a challenge as much as anyone, but you don’t even ‘ave a sword.”

“Empty your pockets,” another bandit interjected, poking the makeshift weapon towards the victim in the centre of the enclosing circle.

The boy rolled his eyes, eliciting a scoff from the man in charge. “You ‘eard us. We can do a lot worse, boy,” he spat.

“What are you going to do? Eat me?” He joked, eyes focusing on the man’s gut.

Arthur blinked in confusion, wondering whether he should be impressed with the audacity, or annoyed with the complete idiocy of this simpleton.

The smile slipped off the bandit’s face as if it had never been there, his ire growing like a fire inside him as he gripped his own weapon more firmly. “I don’t give the same order twice,”

“You shouldn’t have once.”

The growls turned into murmurs, and Arthur recognised the sound; they were ready to pounce on the fool.

“Hello,” he shouted cheerfully, jumping out from his hiding spot behind the tree as he almost sauntered over with a fake confidence he had worked on for years. He showed his teeth as he glanced around the circle, taking in the confused glares of the bandits, and the puzzled one of their victim; Arthur wanted to punch him for appearing irritated at the sight of help, but kept his focus on the matter at hand. “Perhaps you should lower your weapons.” He spoke with an authority that came with being raised in the royal household, a stare that garnered no room for argument.

Bandits did not care so much for rules, however.

“You’re as stupid as ‘e is,” the leader gasped a laugh, the fake smile returning as his lips perked up.

“Maybe,” he nodded once. After having seen how many men he would have to face, Arthur had a feeling this man was probably right, but it was hardly his fault this fool had only been encouraging the bandits. “Still, you will let him go.”

He met the stare of the bandit, the tension sweeping over them so much so that there was no peep from anyone else. Both eyes lit with challenge, both assessing who might do the most damage. Arthur was sure it would be the bandits, but he hoped they could not sense his lack of confidence.

“Erm,” a clearing of the throat broke the tension, and all eyes swiftly directed themselves on to the boy. “Do you mind?”

There was a pause, until Arthur realised the question was directed at him, and his eyebrows furrowed together.

“What?” Arthur manages to say, lost completely for anything else. Even the bandits appeared a little disturbed by this strange scene.

“We were kind of in the middle of something,” the boy’s arm waved between himself and the bandits.

Arthur stared at him then for a long while, searching him for answers, wondering if this was some odd plan of his. “Yes,” he nodded slowly, only sure that this idiot was likely going to get himself killed soon, if not today. “You were about to get yourself killed, I heard.” He walked away from the bandit, who was too engrossed in this new conversation to notice the distance he put between them, and invaded the space of their victim. Grabbing him by his paper-thin jacket, he whispered through gritted teeth, “now _shut up_.” He punctuated his words as he removed his hand roughly from the jacket, the boy almost losing his footing.

The boy still had the audacity to roll his eyes, however, and Arthur was honestly quite stunned at such a display. “I have the situation under control,” he argued.

Letting out a laugh of disbelief, Arthur stepped back, “you’re joking!”

The boy rolled his head, again irritated, but not bothering to reply. When his head came back up, though, he was instantly distracted, his eyes widening as he shouted, “get down!”

Arthur followed the instruction, but turned his head to follow where this idiot was looking, realising their mistake; while they had been bickering, the bandits, smarter than others he had faced before, took their opportunity.

Fists flung at him, handcrafted weaponry came at him from all sides, but he gave as good as he could under the circumstances. His new… ‘partner’ in this was trying to fight them off with a valiant effort, and Arthur had to admit he felt some admiration for his determination. His heart turned to stone, however, when the boy put his hand up. With the bandits closing in around Arthur, the boy had space to harness his true power; admittedly, hand to hand combat like this was not his strong point, his rather lanky form not having had a real chance to improve since he knew he could always rely on other abilities.

He brought his hand up, showing his palm to those closest to him, and his eyes glowed a gleaming gold for less than a second. That was all it took, now that he had had more time to hone his skills. The bandits around him barely had a chance to bring their weapon against him as they were in the sky one moment, crashing to the ground the next. Not a single word was uttered, and Arthur was stunned by the effects of such a limited movement. Stunned, but not pleased.

“Look out!” He heard the boy yell, looking over him, but it hit his ears too late. Luckily, the stranger’s magical reflexes appeared to be quicker than his at this moment, and Arthur was able to catch the man about to wound him fly backwards, slamming into a tree. His breath caught in his throat. He nodded briefly in thanks, feeling as though he should be grateful. Clutching at his chest, though, he waited for the conflict in his mind to leave him before doing any more, aware that this boy, whom he had assumed to be weak, had dealt with the remaining bandits, because he was a _sorcerer_.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, the smell of sweat and sound of his own panting filling his senses, drowning everything else out. His eyes drifted over the area, scanning the path now piled with bandits who never imagined this was how their day would end. Taking a wary side glance of the boy across from him, Arthur was equally surprised. Their victim, now walking carefully around their bodies to get to the man who was supposed to be aiding him, appeared as more threatening than he had before. Arthur felt his hand patting at his side, but he sighed, remembering that he had forgone his sword that day, believing it was so obvious that he might not pass as a commoner. He had almost forgotten this was supposed to be a peaceful trip.

“Thanks,” the boy spat, invading Arthur’s thoughts, and again he felt his brow furrowing in confusion. “I could have taken them myself!”

“I see that now,” Arthur answered, his voice seeming miles away as he glanced once again at those on the floor.

“What?”

Arthur looked up, and the boy stared at him inquisitively, but he was not sure what to say. All he felt he could do was curse whoever had brought them together.

“Wait…” the boy blinked, stepping back on one foot as he held a hand up. Arthur unconsciously felt for the missing sword again, watching with cautious eyes. The stranger caught the movement and looked down at his hand, and when he looked back up, he wore a look of weariness that seemed older than himself. “Are you from Camelot?”

Arthur blinked then, surprised by the question. He floundered, hesitating for too long, and the boy nodded knowingly.

“I knew it,” he waggled a finger at him, and still Arthur felt a strange nervousness racing through him at the movement. “Well, you can’t turn me in.” His face appeared eerily calm once again, “magic’s perfectly legal outside of that kingdom, _as it should be_.” While he smiled, he managed to evoke a strong, stern tone as he emphasised his final words. It did not help Arthur that the sorcerer had a point.

“I wasn’t going to,” he tried, but the high lilt of his tone left too much room for challenge, and the stranger’s eyes bored into him as if testing if he might.

His gaze softened though as he hummed, “guess I owe you some thanks,” he shrugged, a grin forming across his face while Arthur’s own expression remained a confused neutral. “Although, you actually weren’t that much help.”

“What?” Arthur huffed a laugh, “without my distraction, you’d be bandit meat!”

The boy pulled a face, crossing his arms, “you’re saying I _couldn’t_ have done exactly what I did without your _distraction_?” He rolled his eyes, “you just made my job harder, if anything.”

Arthur only raised his eyebrows, both staring at each other, waiting to see who would give in first. Apparently, he had met the only other person as stubborn as he was.

“I don’t have time for this,” the disguised king huffed, annoyed, as a victorious smile lifted on the sorcerer’s face. “Just don’t come near Camelot,” he warned, pointing a finger at him for more than a second to make sure the boy understood. The mischievous glint in his eye worried Arthur, but he knew there was nothing else he could do. Pushing past him, he begrudgingly offered a goodbye, a contrast to the cheerful one in return, and went on his way, looking back after a few minutes had passed to stare at the odd fellow he had just met. 

* * *

The king was able to secure another escape from his kingdom, although this time it was somewhat official business. There were rumours, nothing more than whispers really, of creatures bothering people by the border of Camelot, and so, out of courtesy, Arthur thought it would do well to check the countryside.

His horse trotted peacefully beside Leon’s own as they shared a comfortable silence, his closest knight wearing more appropriate protection than his king. Still, Arthur believed this to be another opportunity for him to leave the bustle of court business and castle life for the day, so he would embrace it fully. Plus, there was always chatter of strange occurrences inside and outside of Camelot, and only half the time they turned out to hold even the slightest bit of truth; the king was not holding his breath.

When they approached the border, Arthur looked around at the empty space before turning to Leon, “you stay here, I’ll cross over.”

“Are you sure that’s wise, My Lord?” The knight was sceptical, looking out over the border, “you’re hardly protected.” He looked him up and down, although said nothing more.

Arthur scoffed with false confidence, “I have my sword,” he shrugged, “I won’t wander too far.”

“My Lord,”

“Leon,” he sighed, eyes dropping to the ground, “you know how hard these months have been, just allow me this time.”

“If the reports are true-”

“If they’re true, then I’ll call for you.”

Leon still appeared hesitant, biting his lip as he considered it. “How long will you be?”

“Give me half an hour.” Arthur hoped he was not pushing his luck; Leon was a good friend, but he was also very protective. Too good at his job, sometimes.

Again, the knight hummed, unsure whether this was a wise decision. Did other kings just wander off into different territory when they felt the need? Leon had to find out, because it seemed Arthur was difficult to keep tethered to the castle. All he could hope was that when the first year of his reign passed, he might feel more comfortable on his seat, and not trying to live up to his father as he knew he did.

“Very well, Sire.” Leon nodded, acquiescing with a wavering note. “But, I’ll be here. So, call if you need me.”

Arthur nodded kindly in thanks, “of course.”

\---

Naturally, when Arthur began to disbelieve rumours, they would only turn out to be too true. He was too far from Leon now to call for him, as he began to lose control of the horse, the beasts Gaius had once informed him were called wyverns flying overhead, some daringly swooping lowly to grab at him and his ride. As much as he tried to pet the horse, whispering soothing words, the wyverns did not stop their taunting of their hopeful next meal, and she could not be calmed. He expected the drop when it came, his horse finally giving up its anxious side-to-side trotting, expelling Arthur from her back before she left the scene before the king could even register his fall.

He rubbed at his back as he stood with a grunt, muscles aching as he pulled on them to start walking. Some of the creatures had been distracted by the horse’s gallop back to Camelot, but many of them continued to circle Arthur, and he knew he had to move. His leg twinged with every move as he tried to walk quickly with a limp, but eventually he was rewarded for his troubles when he believed he found a hiding place. Turning so his back faced it, he carefully pressed each foot backwards not too quickly, eyes trained upwards, never removing his stare from the wyverns. His horse might have made it back to Leon, although Arthur was unsure what the knight could do against the onslaught; there were too many, and he had heard many times that even just a couple of these beasts could cause much trouble.

His thoughts were cut off when his foot connected with something unfamiliarly hard underneath, and rather than hearing anything snap, there was a whisper of pain before a muttered, “watch it!” Arthur frowned, immediately taking his gaze away from the creatures swarming around him, vaguely recognising the voice, even the irritation in it. When he caught sight of the familiar face, the one then looking at his foot, which Arthur must have stood on, with a pout, the king almost shouted.

“It’s you!” He whispered angrily, pointing a finger at the sorcerer instantly.

The man’s eyes came up to the finger, before landing on Arthur’s indignant expression, “what? I live around here!” He muttered back, shaking his head. “What are you doing back here, anyway?”

Arthur’s expression fell neutral then, hesitating for a moment, once again caught for something to say; he was not sure he would have anyone to lie to about his trips outside of Camelot, but it seemed he could not shake this idiot off. “Why are _you_ here?” He settled on instead, crossing his arms with a smug grin.

The boy frowned, “I _just_ told you, I live near here.”

The king’s expression fell slightly, but he quickly tilted his chin up, “shut up.”

Rolling his eyes, the sorcerer brought his hand up, pointing up at the wyverns still circling the area, waiting to swoop in for their next meal. “I’m trying to deal with them,” he confided, and Arthur followed his gaze.

The boy’s eyes fell back on Arthur, then, squinting his eyes as he looked at the man inquisitively. When the king noticed, he did not like the stare, it made him even more wary of this idiot. “You know,” the stranger tapped his finger against his chin, still giving Arthur that odd look, “we could use one of your ‘distractions’ for this.” The corners of his lips twitched in a way that Arthur did not like at all, offering a grimace in response before he could even hear the plan formulating in this crazy person’s brain.

\---

“Do it _now_!” Arthur screamed in a voice filled with such panic that he would never admit to ever again. Still, as he waved his sword aimlessly and helplessly at the wyvern beating down on him, each of the creatures taking a turn to weaken him before they would all undoubtedly swoop in to have at him, there was nothing else he could do.

The sorcerer stood close by, somewhat hidden behind dark bushes, apparently formulating some spell that would command the creatures to leave. Right now, though, it felt like Arthur was on his own, and he feared he had been left by the magic man. As his sword danced in front of his eyes, his father’s words warning him against magic time after time filled his mind, and all he could wonder was why he had listened to the sorcerer in the first place.

Finally, the boy stepped out of the shadows with a firm step, that powerful, stern stare holding the scene in front of him. Bringing his hand up, his eyes lit up with golden rings of fire, and when he opened his mouth a roar escaped from deep within his chest. “Nun de ge dei s'eikein kai emois epe'essin hepesthai,” he spoke in tongue Arthur had never really understood, but it was incredibly powerful; the roar was like that of an animal, and the creatures immediately obeyed the command given. The boy dropped his hand slowly, only when the very last creature disappeared from sight, and Arthur let his sword fall out of his hands before his body allowed gravity to pull it down. The sight of the grey clouds in an otherwise empty sky made him let out a huff of laughter, and when he heard the sorcerer begin to chuckle, he felt a little safer with him.

Walking over after a few moments had passed, the sorcerer came over quietly, watching as Arthur wiped a hand over his brow with exhaustion. The goofy grin Arthur saw as he looked up knocked some air out of him, honestly unable to fathom how the command he had heard roared with such authority could come from this fool. The boy offered him a hand then, and he watched it sceptically for a second, before accepting the offer gracefully, heaving himself up.

Once he dusted himself off, the king bent down to pick up the discarded sword, once again remembering his pain from earlier as he let out a low grown.

“Did they hurt you?” The sorcerer asked, looking him over with something so similar to concern, that Arthur might have thought he was actually… nice.

Shaking his head, he replied, “I fell, it’s nothing.”

“I could heal it, if you wanted?”

Arthur heard what was unsaid, saw the look in his eyes, and barely considered it before refusing. “It’s fine, I can take care of it.”

The sorcerer’s eyes fell as he coughed, kicking his foot in the grass softly.

“Thanks, I guess,” Arthur offered instead, before he could even think. So much for not trusting sorcerers.

“I owed you one,” the stranger shrugged, his eyes not leaving the floor.

Arthur frowned, wondering if he remembered the last time correctly, but did not say anything.

“Nice sword,” the piercing stare found the object quickly.

The object was gripped tighter, “oh, this…” Arthur floundered, “I won it in a card game,” he tried.

This brought the sorcerer’s stare up, looking at Arthur for a long while. “Nice,” he settled on, but Arthur was not sure he truly believed him. Before he could say anything more, though, a hand came between them both, “I’m Merlin, by the way.” The smile returned, and Arthur once again stared sceptically at the offered hand, surprised by the openness.

It was a few seconds, and Merlin looked ready to repeal the gesture, but Arthur found himself gripping the hand in a kind gesture, “Arthur.”

A twinkle appeared in Merlin’s eyes then, hands holding together now, “does this mean we’re friends?” He winked.

Arthur already regretted his decision. 

* * *

Crouching behind the leaves with only a little rustling, Arthur controlled his breathing as he stared straight ahead into the clearer space before him. Group hunts could be enjoyable, but as he sat silently by himself with a deer in his sights, he felt a perfect calm washing over him as he began to line up his crossbow. His movements were slow and careful since he had time to take care, the deer making no move to leave its spot, and Arthur certainly prepared to stay out here for a while longer. He could feel his heart beating calmly as the energy pulsed through him focusing on his finger, hovering as his tongue slipped out to lick his lips, already tasting his spoils. Closing an eye, Arthur stilled his body as the deer seemed unaware of what was about to come.

Suddenly he fell to the ground in a heap, the crossbow dropping out of his hand as he tried to cushion his tumble with his upper arm, grunting as he finally impacted the ground.

“Sorry!” An apologetic voice hit his ears.

His eyes rolled into his head as he realised who was standing by him, leaning over him now to try and help him up as he only wished the ground would swallow him up. Things were getting to a point where Arthur considered whether it was worth escaping from Camelot. Yes, he was busy a lot and just outside of the kingdom he might find some respite, but the times when he did not run into this wayward sorcerer were few and far between.

“Arthur?” Merlin sounded cheerful, too cheerful. Arthur heard him chuckle, “what are you doing here again?”

The king ignored him, pushing himself up without the sorcerer’s aid before dusting his clothes off, looking at them hoping Gwen would not kill him for getting them so messed up again. How could he explain that there was a clumsy oaf wandering the forest, apparently with the ability to detect when he was close by. Arthur hummed to himself, wondering if perhaps he was using his magic to do it.

“Did you hit your head or something?”

Arthur spun his head too quickly, but turned his glare on Merlin in an instant. “What are _you_ doing here?” He poked at the sorcerer’s chest, and the man’s eyes glanced down for a second before he frowned at Arthur.

“I think we’ve covered that more than once, maybe you did hit your head.”

Before Merlin could inspect it, Arthur waved away the hands coming towards him, anger radiating through him as he growled, “you really are a total _buffoon_ , aren’t you, Merlin?”

The sorcerer’s eyes widened enough to appear offended, “I’m not the one hiding in the bushes!”

Arthur closed his eyes as he inhaled a deep breath of nature’s fresh air, bringing a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose as he wondered why there was nowhere inside or outside his kingdom he might get some peace. “I was trying to hunt,” he shouted, hand waving over to the now completely empty space, the deer spooked as soon as Merlin had collided with the king.

Merlin followed his hand, “something invisible?”

Scrunching his face up, Arthur huffed, trying to control his anger before he hit the sorcerer. Instead, he bent down with too much force, grabbing at his bow, now dusty too. His eyes inspected it as he twirled it around in his hands, head dropping back as he once again wondered how he was going to explain this. Of course, he could always pull rank, but Leon always managed to somehow wheedle out some excuse from him.

“You’re an idiot,” he sighed, bringing his head back to face Merlin. “It requires speed, stealth, and an agile mind.”

Merlin’s face turned neutral, “you’re able to get by on two out of three, then?”

And Arthur honestly was unsure how he stopped himself from hitting him then, with the cockiness seeping from him.

“That crossbow’s seen better days,” Arthur followed Merlin’s eyes towards the weapon dangling in his hands. Looking back up at the sorcerer, he sensed something more as Merlin gave him a pointed stare. “Card game?” He asked, and the king had to pause for a moment before he realised what the idiot was talking about. 

“Er,” he shook his head, “no, a gift, actually.” Merlin watched him carefully, Arthur feeling tense under his gaze before he frowned, “don’t change the subject! You just scared off my meal.”

“If you’re hungry,” the sorcerer smiled as if he had never derailed the conversation, “my Druid camp’s nearby, I’m sure there’s enough food for one more!”

The king hesitated, stepping backwards unconsciously as he sniffed.

“Or,” Merlin spoke again in a strange tone, watching Arthur carefully, “I could at least help you catch something.”

Arthur’s expression turned sceptical now, eyes narrowing as he looked Merlin up and down. He was skinny, clumsy, and Arthur really was not sure what he would gain by letting this fool help him. “Can’t you go and annoy somebody else?” His shoulders dropped, eyes and tone both pleading as they already knew the sorcerer was going to help him.

Merlin shrugged, “I’m already here now, maybe tomorrow.” Despite Arthur’s grimace, the sorcerer grinned, “I’m a great tracker, anyway!”

\---

Miraculously, and Arthur was incredibly surprised, they had caught something; it had taken longer than necessary, and it was hardly a deer, but at least the trip had not been completely wasted. Kicking his legs out as he stretched out, leaning against a log in a quiet area, he watched as Merlin set up the fire. They were not exactly friends, really, but Arthur did not totally feel unsafe around him anymore.

“Do you mind if I,” Merlin turned back to him, hand pointing at the fire. Arthur’s forehead wrinkled and the sorcerer’s body slumped as he sighed, “you won’t be uncomfortable if I light this using magic?”

Arthur felt his body freeze, aware again of the man’s abilities. It was such an odd thing, whatever their relationship was at this point, that it often left his mind in favour of wondering how annoying the man might get.

“Never mind,” Merlin sighed when Arthur was unresponsive.

“Go ahead,” Arthur breathed out, watching carefully. Merlin stared at him, so he nodded sincerely, still feeling a tenseness in his body as he waited for it to be over. When Merlin turned back to the fire, there was some shuffling, but no words were uttered when Arthur noticed the light burning then.

“Thanks,” the sorcerer said kindly as he brought himself up to Arthur, in a timid way that seemed odd. “Sorry if it made you uncomfortable,” he offered a soft sort of smile, leaning up against the log not too close to the king, and Arthur could not help but feel some of the fear slip away from him as he let his guard down a little.

“It’s fine,” he tried, but his voice still wavered. “I didn’t hear you say anything,” his eyes turned to the fire, heating up the food now.

He felt Merlin shrug beside him, “I’ve known magic all my life, some spells just come naturally to me.”

“You’ve practised magic a while?” Arthur turned to face him.

Merlin smiled in a way Arthur did not understand, “I’m not a sorcerer, Arthur.” He shuffled closer, “do you know what a warlock is?”

Arthur shook his head, confusion highlighting the lines on his brow.

“I’m a warlock, born with magic.”

“You can be born with it?”

Merlin hummed with a nod, “it’s not something I chose, it just happened.” Arthur stared at him, watching as Merlin’s eyes focused on something else, something far away. “I was ashamed for a long time,” he let out a slow breath, and Arthur was entrapped in the story.

“What happened?” The king whispered.

“My mother raised me for as long as she could, alone, and she made me feel better, but she could only do so much. When I was older, she asked if I would like to be with people who understood me, who could help me; the people in my village were all wary of me, having heard stories from Camelot.” He paused, and Arthur swallowed hard. “So, I went to stay with the Druids. I visit my mother sometimes, but we both know she made the right choice; I feel more comfortable with myself, now.” Merlin’s gaze focused back, looking at Arthur, “do you understand?”

Arthur found himself nodding slowly, the story making its way into everything he had already learned of magic, the only thing he had ever heard about it that did not make him so afraid of it.

\---

The end of the meal brought with it the end of Arthur’s trip, and he pushed himself up from the log with some effort, wondering just when the day had actually become pleasant.

“I assume you’ll be back?” Merlin asked with a grin. Arthur wanted to say no, just to irritate him, but nodded instead.

“Before I go,” he asked timidly, eyes wandering over to the fire that was now dying out, “could you show me something?”

“What?”

“Something else, with your magic?” He was focused on the fire, trying not to think about why he had asked Merlin to reveal even more.

“If you’re sure?”

“Yes,” Arthur nodded firmly.

“Alright,” Merlin’s voice appeared lighter than before, and Arthur watched him with anticipation. Rubbing his hands before raising one towards the fire, Merlin was entirely focused as he spoke with an eerie authority, “upastige draca!”

Arthur saw his eyes light gold before he turned to see the effects, watching with both fear and awe as a fiery dragon, about as big as his hand, flew in the flames. 

* * *

With one hand on the door, the other wrapped around the handle, Guinevere quietly closed the entrance to Morgana’s chambers. It was not yet evening, but her mistress had insisted on having a rest, and Gwen had much to do anyway. Turning away from the door with a sigh, her eyes followed the corridor before her feet could, and she suddenly picked up on the sound of footfall coming her way. When she noticed her king making his way towards her with a purpose, she stood straighter, edging closer towards Morgana’s door.

“Sire,” she curtseyed, “I’m sorry, but Morgana’s resting.”

Arthur shook his head, “I was actually hoping to speak with you, Guinevere.”

Frowning, her feet shuffled slightly against the cold stone floor, but she attempted a smile.

“You’ve already helped me a great deal,” the king smiled, hanging on the end of the sentence for a second.

Gwen’s smile dropped with her body slumping, “you haven’t dirtied any more of the clothes I have given you?” She stressed, but immediately remembered her place when the words left her mouth and Arthur stared at her as if she had grown two heads. Eyes widening, she had the grace to straighten once more, “forgive me, Sire.”

The king smiled kindly, one from his younger days as prince, when he had fewer decisions to make and less weight on his shoulders. “I’m sure we’re past that now, Gwen.” He shook his head fondly, “but don’t worry, this isn’t about the clothes.”

Unable to prevent it, the maid let out a sigh of relief, thinking of the other chores she had yet to do. “What is it you need from me?”

Arthur paused, scratching at his chin, clearly avoiding whatever he had come to say. Gwen was itching to get on with her duties, though, and tapped her foot a couple of times against the floor. “I met someone,” the king let out in a strange tone that Gwen only just got the message from, “I met someone.” He sighed, although Gwen’s face lit up pleasantly, albeit slightly confused before he continued, “but I can only see him outside of Camelot.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated,” Arthur rolled his head as he waved a hand around, “it’s not really important.” Gwen raised an eyebrow, but Arthur decided to ignore it. “But, he doesn’t know I’m king.”

Gwen gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth, “what? Why?”

Arthur quickly scrambled, “I couldn’t tell him! He saw me in the clothes you gave me, and I just… it’s nice to speak to someone who doesn’t know I’m king.”

Eyes softening, Gwen could sympathise, watching Arthur’s face fall. Being a king certainly had its privileges, but Arthur had to be careful with everyone, had to question anyone who might get close to him, and knowing him since he was a young prince, Guinevere knew he was often led by his heart, but many times to disappointment.

“What do you need me to do?” She asked, holding her hands together.

Arthur perked up, crinkles appearing around his eyes, “it’s nothing that will put you out of your way, really.”

Gwen shook her head, “just tell me.”

“Well, since he can’t know yet that I’m king, but we still meet outside, I need to tell him where he could send me messages so I can find him more easily.” 

* * *

The new system was working well, and the king was grateful to Guinevere for helping him, although he did not appreciate her judgemental stare, silently asking him when he would tell Merlin the truth that he was ruler of Camelot. She did not know everything about Merlin, though, and why exactly he could not tell him under any circumstances that he was ruler of a kingdom which executed those with magic.

Shaking his head of deep thoughts, he wandered through the forest, knowing it was around the time they had agreed upon to meet. Arthur no longer questioned how he had gotten in so deep, but was beginning to accept this as a new sort of normal. The grass pressed underneath his feet as he strolled down the hill before he heard voices chatting to each other. Shrugging, he followed the noises, going to an open area with two people standing in the middle. As he stood by the tree a fair distance away, he managed to recognise the male as Merlin, and an echo of a smile twitched over his face. His companion, the female, was not someone he recognised, as he and Merlin only ever met alone. The two seemed to be focused on whatever they were talking about, so Arthur crossed his arms, leaning against the tree as he watched on.

After a minute or two more of talking together, the pair nodded at each other before separating, making distance between the other before stopping. A frown flittered on Arthur’s face, before he heard Merlin shout across to the girl, “Freya, are you ready?” The king’s gaze drifted over to Freya then, watching as she looked at the ground, planting her feet firmly in place before looking up and nodding with a bit more hesitance than Merlin displayed. “Let’s try it, then!” The warlock called to her.

Arthur watched with curiosity as Freya’s eyes went back to the ground, and he wondered if she was going to attempt whatever it was they were doing, before her hands came out. From the distance, he could not tell what she was aiming at, but managed to make out quiet mumbling only when he strained to hear.

Suddenly, there was a faint rumble, and then another. Arthur looked around for the source, but when he caught Freya in his line of sight again, he watched as she lifted her hands up, the rumbling coming from beneath her as she controlled it. The king felt his heart in his throat as he realised what was happening, eyes wide as roots came from beneath the earth, curling their way across the floor almost like snakes. Freya pushed her hands out, towards Merlin, and Arthur figured that the magic was meant as an attack on him, the roots gaining speed as they chased the warlock, who stood planted to the spot. As they got closer, Arthur felt his breath pick up, arms falling to his side as he stood straighter, and Freya’s mumbling was only background noise now. To see Merlin doing magic had taken a lot of getting used to, and even then, it was only small spells; this brazen use of it chilled him to his core, and the king was rooted to his own spot.

He was pulled from his fear though, when he heard Merlin mumble something that Arthur could not make out at that distance. His eyes fluttered over still, and he watched as the roots curling up around the warlock shattered into nothing more than dust, the cracks in the ground closing back up as if they had never been opened. Arthur closed his mouth, suddenly aware that it had been hanging open ridiculously at the display before him. 

“Cume þoden!” Freya shouted in an instant, and a whirl of wind appeared in between the warlock and the girl, her hand held out to push it against Merlin. Again, Arthur found himself engrossed in this attack, watching from the side-line with confusion. Merlin raised a hand, giving his full force against the swirling force of wind, pushing it backwards. It moved closer towards Freya, as she appeared to be the weaker of the two, but when Arthur glanced over to her, he noticed as she picked up her other hand.

Squinting as he put a hand over his eyes against the cold air flying around, even reaching where he stood, Arthur watched as Freya did more, but could not hear the spell she muttered, although he would not know what it meant even if he could. He found out, though, when she pushed the hand out, sending a surge of energy towards Merlin, and Arthur traced it with his eyes before watching it knock the warlock off his feet in a way that might have made the king laugh under other circumstances. Unable to battle back against the whirlwind, it caught up to Merlin, although dissipated before it fully encroaches the warlock, and Arthur blinked in surprise, stumbling backwards.

Freya picked Merlin up, offering a hand, before they both laughed, and the king barely understood what he just witnessed. The two appeared friendly enough then, as they had when he first approached the scene, as if the spells had been created by his own imagination. When he saw Freya take her leave, he felt his heartbeat calming, returning to normal.

“You didn’t have to watch,” he almost jumped, because Merlin was suddenly by his side. “I know you’re still not used to it.”

“Er, what?” Arthur blinked, before frowning at Merlin’s grin. “No, it’s fine. I’m just confused.” He settled on, ignoring the anxious energy trying to escape him.

“I understand if you were worried,” Merlin smiled.

Arthur gulped, but shook his head before pulling a face of disgust, “of course I wasn’t worried! I was just… surprised,” he ended lamely. Merlin tilted his head in something like sympathy and Arthur huffed, “you’re the one who was beaten by a girl.”

“What?” Merlin rolled his eyes, “I’m teaching her how to control her magic, I can’t use my full force on her!”

Scoffing, the king crossed his arms, “yeah, right.” Patting a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, he looked up at him under his brow, “you don’t have to lie to me, _Mer_ lin.”

Merlin shrugged his hand off, “she wasn’t ready! As if you could do any better.”

“I could take you apart with one blow,”

“I could take you apart with less than that.”

Arthur refuses to remember the champion of that challenge. 

* * *

Arthur was not entirely sure when he had started to enjoy his trips outside of Camelot, especially with Merlin around, but somehow, they had become a pleasant respite for him. As he shuffled off the uncomfortable log to sit against it instead, getting closer to the warmth of the fire as it offered the only light in the darkness of night, he offered a small smile to Merlin who sat beside him.

“You know, I’ve gotten to quite like you, Merlin.” He frowned amusedly, “now I realise you’re not as big a fool as you look.” He jabbed him in the side with his elbow, and Merlin huffed an irritated sound.

“I feel the same. Now that I realise _you’re_ not as arrogant as you sound.” Merlin jutted his chin out pointedly, and Arthur could not help the huff of laughter that escaped him. “Dollophead,” the warlock muttered, turning away to push more wood into the fire.

When you are king, nobody dares say anything like that to you, and although annoying, it felt rather refreshing when Merlin brought him back down to earth with these stupid insults. When he felt Merlin sit back beside him, he watched him, wondering if things could be the same if Merlin knew the truth. He knew, of course, that things would never be the same, and his smile wavered. His shoulder brushed against Merlin’s as he shifted, his hand accidentally dropping on the warlock’s between them, and he watched as Merlin’s eyes directed themselves at the mistake. Arthur removed it as quickly as he could, but it had felt like too long, and he coughed nervously, looking away.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered into the dark, and the king nodded, “tell me about your family?”

The king frowned at the unexpected question, and he drew a blank; in all this time, he had not thought about what he would say. In his defence, he had never thought he would get this close to someone outside of Camelot.

“You don’t have to,” he heard the other man shift, and shook his head.

“It’s fine,” he started, “it’s nothing special. I live in Camelot, as you already know, with my… she’s like a sister, really. My father took her in, and we’ve grown up together; she’s certainly as irritating as a sister,” he huffed.

“Do you live with your parents, too?”

Arthur shook his head softly, looking at the ground, “no. No, my father died almost five months ago now, and my mother shortly after my birth.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, it’s just…” Arthur hesitated, scratching at his leg. “I worry, sometimes, that I won’t live up to my father’s expectations of me, or that I’ve let my mother down.”

There was so much silence then, that all that can be heard are the leaves rustling above them, and their own breaths coming out softly, before Merlin spoke, “my father died only a few months after I was born, too, and I always wonder if he’s proud of me.” He huffed a laugh as Arthur brought his head up to stare at him, like he understands, like he is the only person who can understand what Arthur is going through, yet he can never fully understand. “But, I learned a long time ago, Arthur, that you shouldn’t compare yourself to a dead man.”

Merlin was clumsy and odd and an absolute idiot at times, but it was these moments that Arthur saw he could be wise sometimes. Helpful, even. Huffing a laugh, he shook his head. Merlin raised an eyebrow, so he grinned, “for a moment, it was as if we had something in common.” 

* * *

The lake was a beautiful spot outside of Camelot, the view surrounding it taking the beholder’s breath away every time. Merlin had chosen the spot, this time, for a picnic, and Arthur had been happy to agree. The sun shone nicely down, guiding his way through the trees before he spotted the warlock sat by the lake, his back to him as he clutched his knees. Smiling, the king stepped down with the basket in his hand, for once not complaining at having to carry his own things.

“This is a perfect spot,” he shouted down, “and I’ve got all the food we’ll need, so thankfully you won’t need to help me hunt anything.” He joked with a laugh, placing the basket down carefully as he made it to the stony bank. Grabbing the blanket he brought, he set about to roll it out neatly, but frowned when he realised that Merlin was still sitting close to the water. Rolling his shoulders, Arthur dropped the blanket for the moment, the stones crunching beneath his feet as he wandered over to the warlock.

“Merlin?” His hand hovered over the man’s shoulder, and he crouched down when he got no response. “Merlin, what happened?” He asked tentatively, all cheer dissipating as he leaned over to look at the warlock’s face, finding it covered with tear tracks with red, puffy eyes staring far away. His hand landed firmly on Merlin’s shoulder then, and when he gave a squeeze, he felt a tremble underneath him as the warlock sniffled.

“She was my friend,” Merlin whispered, eyes focusing now, meeting Arthur’s with fresh tears waiting to fall. 

“Who?” When Merlin failed to respond, he asked again.

“Freya,” he breathed out, closing his eyes with a squeeze so that the tears could escape. “They took Freya.” 

“They? Who took her?”

“I don’t know.” His hands grabbed out then, when he opened his eyes with fear and focused back on the man kneeling before him, breath catching as his fingers clawed and tightened around Arthur. “I don’t know. I tried to help her-” he choked on a sob, interrupting himself, and Arthur’s fingers gripped Merlin tighter to ground him - “I was too late.” The warlock sighed shakily, eyes going distant as if he was going back to the moment, and his fingers loosened their grip as he lost all of his strength in an instant. “It was too late,” he whispered, but Arthur shushed him before wrapping him into a comforting embrace, his knees scratching against the rocks beneath them. He brought his hand to settle on the nape of Merlin’s neck, bringing Merlin’s head to his shoulder so that they were close in comfort. “I tried to help her, Arthur, but it was too late.” He sobbed into Arthur’s clothes, “she’s dead. She died in my arms,” and Arthur’s heart faltered at the break in the warlock’s voice in his last words.

\---

Arthur had managed to persuade Merlin to let him put the blanket underneath them, because the rocks must be digging into his skin as they were in the king’s. They sat side by side, eyes on the lake but not really focusing on its beauty, with Merlin’s body leaning heavily against Arthur’s, his head laying on the man’s shoulder with exhaustion. The king settled his jaw gently against the warlock’s hair, finding his hand settled in the short raven cut close to the neck, gently stroking it as if it could offer any comfort at a time like this. He had only seen Freya once, but she was young.

“Sorry,” Merlin rubbed at his nose, “I know you don’t get out here much.”

Arthur’s eyes widened as he looked down at the warlock, “don’t,” _be stupid_ , he almost sighed out, but caught the words in his breath. “I know what it’s like to lose a friend. We can sit here in silence for as long as you need, Merlin.”

He felt Merlin nestle his head into his neck, and hoped his words might have helped the man a little.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He whispered, knowing Merlin would not start without the offer.

“I don’t know.” Arthur felt the other man’s breath against his skin. “I’ve known Druids who have died, but it feels different. Freya was my friend.”

“You helped her?”

“Sometimes; she was just comfortable to be around, most of the time.”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur sighed, wondering what else he could offer as he stared out at the calm lake. 

“I know.” 

* * *

Merlin and Arthur had shared moments that the king had never really shared with anyone before, and he had certainly shown Merlin emotions he never knew were so deep within him. Sitting comfortably on the grass, a second attempt at a picnic while the sky was filled with a calming blue, Arthur felt like this was just a normal thing now. Even in silence, the fear he had once felt in the warlock’s presence was hardly there.

“Things in Camelot are getting better,” Arthur mentioned before grabbing a strawberry, “there are very few punishments against those with magic.”

He heard Merlin hum beside him, “it’s still a dangerous place,” was all he said, and Arthur stayed silent without a rebuttal to offer.

“Could you show me something again?” He asked instead, and Merlin turned to face him.

“Really?” The hopeful smile that lit his face made Arthur feel something strange inside, but it felt good, so he nodded with his own grin.

Merlin shuffled, moving so that he sat in front of Arthur, sitting on his knees as he cupped his hands, holding them out between them. The king sat up straighter, pushing his hand so that he could lean on it. The warlock brought his lips to his hands, eyes moving from Arthur to focus on the spell, and whispered gently, “gewyrcan lif.” Arthur no longer recoiled when Merlin’s eyes glowed with fire, only leaning forward when the colour faded, trying to get a closer look. Merlin’s eyes flicked up at him, his lips cocking into a grin, but Arthur was only left in suspense for a few seconds longer before the warlock opened his palms.

Arthur felt fear, awe, and disbelief all at once, throwing him as his shoulders dropped. His eyes opened wide in amazement as he huffed a strange laugh, watching the blue butterfly emerge from the warlock’s hands with a flutter, hovering between them. His hand came up automatically, a finger reaching out to almost touch it, but he held back, anxiety in him still bubbling up at moments, so he could only watch as it eventually flew away.

He watched it until it was out of sight, before his eyes came down slowly, drifting back on Merlin, whose eyes were still staring upwards, a wondrous smile lighting up his face in a way Arthur did not expect; the warlock must have seen magic often, but the way his eyes watched it with glee made Arthur’s breath catch. 

When Merlin brought his eyes back down, it was to Arthur watching him intensely with a small smile, and the king’s tongue unconsciously licked his lips. Their eyes locked, a different blue in each of their visions, but each beautiful in their own right to the beholder. Arthur could hear the chirping of the birds around them fading away, filtered out by the sound of his own heart, or maybe Merlin’s, beating, _pounding_ , and his breath was gone. Merlin’s eyes fell first, dropping to his lips, and Arthur followed his lead, and suddenly they were both leaning forwards, closing in on each other.

“This is wrong,” Merlin whispered, staring at him hungrily.

Arthur only hummed, but they still moved closer, and the hand not holding him up boldly moved of its own accord to hover over Merlin’s cheek. When he registered the movement, there was something in him that wanted to try and pull away, but it was weaker than his drumming pulse. He whispered, “tell me to stop,” as he leaned in, ever closer, and the hand landed to cup the cheek gently. Merlin’s eyes flickered closed as he tilted his head, and Arthur closed his too as he whispered again, “tell me to stop.” The words were weaker than before as his breath tickled against the warlock’s skin. Arthur felt Merlin’s hand brush against his arm, moving up before gripping it, and they finally met in the middle. Arthur pushed, focusing on how soft Merlin felt against him, hearing the moan escape the warlock’s mouth as the fingers curled into his arm even more, their bodies melting into each other. The warmth he felt from Merlin’s lips rushed through him, his stomach fluttering with a feeling he had never experienced before, but never wanted to stop, even as he ran out of breath.

* * *

There was a great deal to consider, and Arthur spent a lot of time thinking; whenever George entered his chambers he was often met with the sight of the king at his table or desk, steepled hands in front of his face as he sat deep in thought. Nobody had mentioned it yet, but Guinevere had guessed what it was to do with, and had sat with him as he paced around his room silently.

“You should go and see him,” she offered.

Arthur did not stop, “how? What can I say?” He waved an arm out.

Gwen shrugged, “tell him how you feel.”

“I can’t do that!”

“Why?”

“I told you, he can’t come to Camelot.”

“Does that mean that you can’t just enjoy the company for now?”

\------

They met at the border, Arthur planning it so that he would have an escape plan if things all went wrong, which they often did around him, and _especially_ around Merlin. The warlock arrived only a fraction late, giving Arthur a bit of distance as he held his hands behind his back.

“You’ve been thinking,” Merlin pointed out, but Arthur nodded anyway.

After a breath, the king rushed a hand through his hair, eyes on the ground, “what we did-”

“-it was a bad idea,” Merlin interjected quickly, although Arthur thought he noticed a hint of disappointment in his tone.

“Quite.” He nodded again, hands turning into fists before he flexed his fingers. “But…” he thought Merlin’s eyes lit up, “but, is it really a problem?”

“You’re from Camelot,” the warlock shrugged, “I have magic.”

Arthur smiled thinly, “I know. Is it a problem _right now_ , though?”

Merlin’s face screwed up, and at any other time Arthur might have laughed at how the wrinkles formed over his nose, but he waited in the silence with bated breath. “Are you okay with this?”

Nodding slowly, Arthur tried a reassuring smile as his heart pounded in anticipation.

“I suppose,” Merlin brought his arms round to his side. “ _For now,_ ” he spoke slowly, “it wouldn’t be a problem.”

Arthur found himself mirroring the ridiculous smile brightening the warlock’s face.


	2. We Don't See Eye to Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the response so far! I have managed to get enough done to update twice weekly, so every Monday and Thursday be here! 
> 
> If you like it drop me a kudos, a comment, or even a message on my tumblr (you can find the link on my profile)!

**Dear Magic’s Defender**

My father was the defender of this kingdom.

He ruled it wisely and his decisions 

protected the people. 

Of course, war is never kind, but 

neither was the threat posed to the security 

and prosperity of this land. 

I will continue to follow what I believe to be right. 

**\- King Arthur**

* * *

Yawning, Morgana peeled off the blanket before dropping it beside her haphazardly. She kicked her legs out from underneath it, swinging them out so that her bare feet found the cold floor beneath them. Her toes wriggled slightly; her hands planted against the side of the bed as she heard the quiet knock on her door. Her lips quirked into a tired smile, and she pushed herself up with an effort before Guinevere let herself in. The maid’s eyes crinkled when she caught her lady’s, striding over to her in a rush as the few strands of curly hair unable to reach into the bun she styled bounced against her freckled skin. 

Morgana’s movements were slower, “Guinevere,” she nodded a good morning to her before her eyes dropped to the flowers in her maid’s hands. The lady brushed a hand through her hair, draping over her shoulders before she pushed it to her back, concentrating on the beautiful bouquet of lilac, her smile growing wider. 

“For you,” Gwen nodded to them, holding them out in both hands towards her mistress. 

Morgana’s nose crinkled at the top, her smile pleased but questioning as she took the flowers gently from her maid’s grasp. She closed her eyes softly as she brought the bouquet to her nose, taking in the scent of the fresh flowers, allowing the smell to brighten her mood and wake up her tired senses. “They’re beautiful,” opening her eyes, she watched as her maid’s smile turned sweeter, almost shy, “how sweet of you.” 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” the maid shook her head modestly, “just something to cheer you up. I know you’ve been distracted lately.” 

The lady grinned, showing her teeth as she tilted her head, “ _you_ cheer me up.” She said seriously and was pleased with the smile she was given in return. 

“I’ll put them in water for you,” Guinevere’s eyes widened slightly, holding her hands back out to take the flowers, Morgana handing them back as her smile did not falter. “Then, you must get dressed.” 

Morgana frowned again, standing in the centre of her room still as her eyes trailed her maid walking over to her dresser where an empty vase sat. She watched Gwen tidy the area a little too before she arranged the flowers neatly in the container. Her maid had done the same things so often, that it was almost calming to watch her work so methodically. 

“The king would like you to join him for breakfast,” the maid said as she tidied up the flowers as if she could see Morgana’s frown from the back of her head. Morgana rolled her eyes dramatically, just as Gwen turned to face her once she had finished her task. The lady audibly groaned just in case her maid had failed to see her expression, but the stern look Guinevere gave her as she folded her hands together in front of her suggested that she had and she was not going to go through this. “I’m just the messenger,” she gave a thin smile, shrugging slightly. 

“Of course,” Morgana’s body slumped a little, “what is it this time? Another suitor, no doubt.” Gwen’s smile remained thin in sympathy. “I can’t bear another attempt of his to match me up. All the men he chooses are fools.” 

Gwen tried to placate her, “maybe it’s something else.” Morgana gave her a pointed stare, and Gwen’s expression turned to a grimace. “At least he gives you a choice,” the maid tried instead, but walked past her mistress in a flurry, perhaps to avoid the eye roll that would be sent her way. 

Morgana sighed instead, watching and waiting as she heard Gwen shuffling through her wardrobe. When she returned, she stood in front of her lady with two dresses, allowing her at least to choose out of the two; Guinevere knew her too well, aware that she might pick something to tease the man, whoever he may be, and it was only breakfast. Morgana hummed, scratching her finger against her chin, considering out of the options she was given which would likely make Arthur blush more. One was a silky dark green that sat comfortably over her, with a golden trimming around the arms and torso; the other, a purple dress without sleeves, but with a blue shawl that could be connected around her into the golden circles decorating the torso, and would then be wrapped at the arms with darker gold patterned bands. The purple was a little tighter on her skin, and with one final glance the lady nodded towards it, “that one.” 

There was only some conviction in her tone because it was the option that she might have more fun with, but she still loathed the idea of breakfast with Arthur, particularly if it meant choosing a suitor. She and the king occasionally got on well, and they had learned over the years to tolerate one another, but now that he was ruling the kingdom he had become even more irritating somehow. 

Gwen nodded, handing her the dress with a sympathetic smile before she ushered her to the screen covering a corner of her room. Morgana heard her softly pattering against the floor of her chambers, taking the rejected green dress back to the wardrobe to see the light of another day. The lady scrunched her mouth to the side, holding the dress in her hands and rubbing the silk through her fingers; she could take her time in changing, there was absolutely no rush for her. She yawned, already dreading the tedium that would come with having to humour another suitor. 

“Perhaps he’s found someone suitable this time,” she heard Gwen say to her from the other side of the screen, trying once again to placate her. Morgana knew her maid would be aware of her attempts to stall since this was not the first time she had done so. 

“I doubt it,” she sighed. 

“Nobody can be worse than the last one… what was his name?” 

Morgana’s eyes widened in horror at the memory, and she let out a horrible gasp, “do not mention him to me again, Guinevere; we agreed never to speak of that man.” She heard the chuckle escape her maid’s lips and shuddered at the thought, “I still have nightmares of what might have happened.” 

“I can imagine,” Gwen laughed, “I’d rather not think about it, for your sake.” Morgana let herself smile a little at the teasing in her maid’s tone, despite the images invoked at the mention of that horrible man. 

“Arthur should not play matchmaker.” She shook her head, hearing Gwen hum in agreement. Guinevere was valuable to her in that way, having served her for so long now that Morgana at least considered the maid her friend. Gwen had opened up much more over the years by her side, never afraid now to share these discussions with her, or give her own opinion; the maid was nothing like Arthur’s own servant, who Morgana had only heard Arthur complain about because of how agonisingly dull he was. She had been fortunate enough never to have to spend too much time with the man, and it only made her more gleeful watching Arthur suffer. 

“He probably just feels responsible,” Gwen said softly, “you were the king’s ward, after all. Now that Arthur has taken his place, he’s just trying to do what he thinks is right.” 

“Perhaps; I only wish he would understand that I’m not desperate to marry, at least not yet.” She heard Gwen hum in response, unable to offer any help as she was only a servant herself. “And how about you, Guinevere?” she called back to her maid, a grin growing on her face as she continued her leisurely approach to getting dressed.

“My Lady?” 

“Has anyone taken your eye?” 

“Oh,” Morgana could practically hear the heat spreading its way up her maid’s neck, “no, not really.” 

“I would ask Arthur to set you up, but, you know.” She heard Gwen laugh, a little nervous. “But there is nobody?” 

Gwen sighed from her spot, “not yet, anyway.” 

“I’ve noticed that you and Sir Leon are quite close,” Morgana continued to pry, knowing that Guinevere would stop her if it was too much; the maid was sweet, though, and she was aware of how lonely her lady could find the castle sometimes. As they had grown closer, Gwen would sit with her sometimes even when she should have gone home, only because Morgana had asked for some company. 

“Oh no! He’s a knight, firstly. Anyway, my mother was a maid in his home, so we grew up together; he’s like a brother, it would feel… wrong.” 

Morgana hummed with disappointment, shrugging her dress on properly, finally. She looked down at it as she patted it against her skin, pulling it out so there were no creases or folds. An evil smile replaced her grin, though, as she stepped out from behind the screen, pointing a mischievous, impish stare at her maid, “how about Arthur?” 

Gwen frowned, a crease forming over her nose as her hands clasped together, “the king?” she almost gasped. 

“I have seen you both get along rather well,” Morgana continued, tiptoeing over towards her maid. “Above the rank of a knight, but if he likes you,” she shrugged, trailing off with a suggestive raise of her eyebrow. 

Her maid’s eyes widened comically as the meaning of her lady’s words hit her, and Morgana huffed a teasing laugh, her eyes crinkling as the blush already covering Gwen’s neck slithered up to engulf her cheeks. “Stop it!” Gwen shook her head in exasperation, covering her hands over her mouth to hide her shocked smile. 

Morgana’s grin only grew wider, the twinkle in her eye not dying out, “that was no denial.” 

“This suitor is going to have his work cut out for him,” Gwen rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, away from Morgana, and the lady let a laugh spill from her lips. 

She shrugged, “perhaps he should not have signed up.” Her grin turned wicked again, “so, even the great Arthur Pendragon does not take your fancy?” 

Gwen once again huffed an exasperated laugh, “he’s nicer than I imagined he would be, but no.” 

“Shame.” Morgana sighed with fake disappointment, “but it hardly matters. I believe you are very much not the king’s type either,” she winked. 

The maid gasped, “you know?” Morgana stayed silent, but her stare gave more away. “He told you?”

The lady frowned, “what? No, Arthur never tells me anything.” She shook her head, “it is only fortunate that he is no good at hiding anything.” Gwen waited, eyes trained on her mistress, and Morgana leaned in as she whispered, “I heard you both when he was asking for your advice about his kiss.” 

“Oh,” the maid sucked in a breath, eyeing her lady with some anxiety. 

“I had been going to get it out of him, anyway, since he shut himself up in his chambers for so long worrying himself about it.” Morgana rolled her eyes. Gwen let out a nervous burst of laughter, but Morgana could see some worry still in her expression and she softened her smile, “don’t worry, his secret is perfectly safe.” She nodded, quick to reassure her maid with a sincere stare. 

Gwen waited a moment, before her shoulders fell, the tension escaping her as she smiled politely again. 

Morgana’s eyes softened, bringing them back to Guinevere, “you know, if you ever wanted the time to meet someone,” she trailed off lamely, locking eyes with Gwen. 

“Thank you, My Lady.” Gwen nodded, her smile turning softer at the gesture. Suddenly, the maid frowned, shaking her head as she said quickly, “we should hurry. Let me comb your hair.” She nodded her head over towards the dresser, before putting a hand on Morgana’s back and guiding her towards it. The lady dropped into the chair, shifting herself so the dress did not tangle underneath her. 

Her head turned to the flowers sat on the side, her fingers reaching out to brush through the petals gently with the very tips of her fingers. The hues of lilac and blues offered the room some cool colour, adding to the thin white sheets of her bed and contrasting with the bold Camelot red of the rugs. 

“Would you like me to do it up?” Gwen asked from behind her, and as Morgana’s eyes trailed to the mirror she saw the maid’s concentration on her long dark locks before she brushed through it gently with her hands. The lady stared at her reflection, the dress bringing out the blue in her eyes that reflected the colours of the ocean with subtle green undertones. Her eyelashes batted against her skin as she blinked, eyes falling to the empty space around her neck as she wondered what piece of jewellery might go with her outfit. 

“Yes,” she decided, feeling Gwen lean over her to grab the hairbrush on the edge of the dresser. The wavy locks of her shining black hair were untidy, needing the brush through before anything might be made of them. When combed, the hair could be shaped into any style beautifully, especially by Guinevere, although Morgana preferred it flowing down without much altering. Still, she knew how she appeared to men when it was styled up, and with the dress, it would still look nice. 

As Gwen combed her hair, taking her time despite her claim that they should hurry, Morgana reached out to grab the small jewellery chest close to the mirror. Opening it with a click, she peered inside, running the pieces through her hands before holding each of them up, “what do you think?” 

“It’s beautiful,” Gwen commented, “will you wear the headpiece, too?” she asked, and Morgana placed the simple golden necklace down to bring out the headpiece to match. 

“I think so.” She admired it, running the few drops of jewels with her fingers. “There’s no reason I can’t tease this man,” she grinned, “or intimidate him.” Morgana watched with delight as Gwen shook her head with a breath of laughter. 

“You don’t even know that’s what this breakfast is,” the maid tried. 

“What else could it be?” Morgana asked innocently. 

* * *

Arthur took another sip from the goblet, the only other thing he could do would be to engage in conversation with George, but the king was not at that level of self-hatred quite yet. His breakfast had already been served, and his stomach’s eyes were staring at it greedily as his own watched the door impatiently, waiting for his guest to arrive. He was too consciously aware of his servant’s presence close by, bursting with an efficiency that actually frightened Arthur, itching to fill the goblet again once the king emptied it. Arthur’s fingers drummed against the table as he put the goblet down carefully, feeling George’s eyes hover over him to see it still had some liquid inside of it. He huffed out a sigh, putting his elbow on the table as he leaned his head against his hand in a manner unlike a king, but he knew the only person in the room with him then would not speak against him. The only reason George ever spoke to him unprofessionally was when he wished to tell Arthur a joke of some sorts, more often than not to do with his work. The man was utterly unbearable.

When the doors to one of the smaller rooms of the castle finally opened, and his guest sauntered in with an arrogantly slow step and her head held high, Arthur felt irritated but could not stop the sigh of relief escaping him. His eyes unconsciously roamed over her outfit from head to toe, and when their eyes met he raised his eyebrows and turned his bottom lip down in questioning. Morgana only shrugged a shoulder slightly, blinking innocently as she draped herself into the seat beside his. He watched as her eyes scanned the room, first over the food that had been sitting waiting for her for quite a while, and finally settling on his servant who stood behind him. Arthur did not have to look back to know that George had the perfect posture, his back ramrod straight, head held high with a stare directly ahead. 

“Well,” she spoke with that air of superiority she always carried with her, “this is certainly cosy.” Her eyes trailed away from George to land on the king, an eyebrow raised above them and a quirk of her lips in that sarcastic fashion she liked to taunt him with. 

Arthur pouted on reflex and would have voiced some disagreement, but the room hardly offered much in terms of comfort; stone columns surrounded two sides of the room, and little sunlight was able to sneak through to light up the room. The dark colours of browns and greys brightened only by a whisper of red decorating the back wall behind the king’s seat, gave a dismal sort of effect to the room. They both sat also at a table too long for only two people, and Arthur shifted in his seat as he wondered when he might feel comfortable where his father used to sit. 

George poured Morgana a drink without a word, the only sound echoing in the room being that of the liquid falling carefully into the glass, the servant immediately stopped pouring once the goblet was sufficiently filled. Arthur caught his eye before he returned to his spot, and was grateful when he nodded to him, “leave us.” He said, hoping he had hidden his joy at being able to have the man out of his space for the rest of the morning, at least. Although the man lingered a moment, he returned the nod and placed the jug in the middle of the pair before taking his leave; Arthur could tell by the way he slunk off that he was disappointed, but he hid it well, and since the king knew he would not say anything of it, he disregarded the information almost instantly. 

The fake smile reappeared on Morgana’s face, her hand reaching out for her goblet but her eyes on Arthur, “a personal meal, how lovely.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes, suppressing a groan, directing his attention on the plate before him instead. Grabbing eagerly at the fruits laid out, he licked his lips and tucked into the delicious smelling breakfast before his stomach screamed again for attention. Biting into a pear, he watched Morgana pick some of the smaller fruit, but her attention seemed to be focused elsewhere; Arthur frowned, watching her eyes hover over the chair opposite her. 

“Expecting someone?” he asked as he swallowed down a piece of the fruit, and Morgana’s gaze drifted over to him. 

She shook her head, “I assumed you would be introducing me to another suitor. It’s been a few months since the last one, I was wondering when it might be.” She popped a piece of fruit into her mouth with indifference.

Arthur could not help the surprised grin forming and laughed, “I invite you to breakfast and you believe it’s to send you off to someone?” shaking his head with wide eyes, he laughed again, “I learned my lesson the last time I tried,” his expression turned into a grimace. “Besides, I have more pressing concerns as king, I’d rather not cause myself more misery, or inflict it on another poor soul.” 

He watched as Morgana went through a range of expressions, conflicted, but she settled a hand on her chest, “it’s their own fault if they cannot handle my charm,” Arthur almost choked on a piece of his fruit, “but I’m glad you have finally made at least one good decision in your reign.” 

There is a lull in the conversation then, both picking at the food quietly before Morgana turned to Arthur with a softer expression, “how are you finding it?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. 

Arthur gripped the piece of bread he held in his hand, letting out a long breath, “I’ve mastered it, as with most things.” He tried for a cocky grin and a twinkle in his eye as he leaned coolly in his seat, engaging in a staring match with the woman he shared the castle with. Morgana raised her eyebrows, her own eyes unblinking with the challenge, and Arthur gave up quickly. With a shake of his head, he rubbed his free hand through his hair as he looked down, “I think I have more of a handle of it.” He brought his head back up with a confident stare.

“It has almost been a year,” Morgana nodded kindly, “you can be slow sometimes, but you get there eventually.” She grinned, Arthur rolling his eyes at the mocking, but eventually bringing them back to her with crinkles around them. He nodded softly once in thanks, and after a brief stare, they each sat back again, content to let their moment of openness slip away. 

“There have been a few… _delicate_ issues,” Arthur peeled off a piece of the bread before putting the bigger part on to his plate. Popping it into his mouth, he placed his elbows on the table, brushing against his clothes as he did so, and crossed his fingers together just underneath his face before leaning forward. Morgana’s attention was on the meal, her fingers hovering over the selection as her eyes tried to make a decision, and once she picked up some grapes, she only directed her head towards him when she began to chew. “There is one that has come to my attention almost regularly now,” he continued, Morgana just staring at him with a seemingly fake interest as she swallowed the grape. 

“Oh?” she offered, almost mirroring Arthur’s position, but putting her hands so her chin rested against the backs of them. 

“There have been reports, several in fact, from different villages, claiming that someone has been aiding those with magic.” He finally announced, eyes narrowing as his eyebrows came down to shadow over them, his piercing glare directed at the lady who sat with innocence in her expression. 

Morgana raised her eyebrows, “really?” she sounded shocked, and Arthur watched her carefully. 

“I know it can’t be the work of a single person, as it’s spread across the kingdom.” Morgana’s eyebrows raised slightly. “But, even those close to the citadel have had some help to find refuge outside of the kingdom.” Morgana’s eyes fell, her hand reaching out for her goblet, and she brought it up close to her lips, taking a sip silently. Arthur raised an eyebrow, delivering his final words carefully, “only someone with some authority could help those with magic so close to the citadel.” 

Morgana took a long drink of her wine, her eyes watching Arthur over the goblet. She was not afraid, though, and she held the cup without a tight grip. “Who would do such a thing?” she asked as she placed the goblet down, but when she brought her attention back to the king, he saw no denial there. There was a fire, a challenge, as she raised her eyebrows once, leaning even more with her head cupped by her hands, her lips coming up slightly at the corners. 

“Morgana,” he sighed, dropping his hands as he tilted his head heavily, “if you’re going to disobey the laws of Camelot, the laws my father put in place to keep us safe, could you try and do so more discreetly?” he raised an eyebrow, tone desperate and sarcastic at the same time.

The lady only shrugged, leaning back in her seat then and resting her arms on the sides of the chair, appearing less like she was being interrogated for actively going against the kingdom, and more like she was about to reject one of her many suitor’s advances. Not that she ever rejected them so kindly, Arthur thought. 

“Perhaps.” She nodded, “I could.” 

Arthur watched her, aware there was more to come. 

Morgana leaned closer to him, her eyes turning serious as her expression turned like thunder, “but you could always let them live here freely.” 

Arthur closed his eyes softly, knocking his head back against his chair as he brought a hand to cover his expression. “Morgana, it’s not as simple as you think.” 

“I’ve seen your attitude changing towards magic.” She sounded less angry, more hopeful then, her tone taking a higher note, “you have not executed a single sorcerer these past few months, and you have always treated claims against those suspected to be using magic with logic.” She let out a breath as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, and Arthur removed the hand from his eyes to see her eyebrows settled almost sadly, her eyes tilted in pleading as she said, “why have you not changed the laws?”

Arthur shuffled in his seat, pushing himself up a little to appear more kingly, although he still felt that strange pit in his stomach sometimes that made him wonder if he could ever appear to be such an authority. Especially to the lady Morgana. “There’s a lot more to it. I cannot undo what has been in place for so long, laws that have kept the kingdom safe. You already know that the threat is not completely gone. We still cannot be sure of the threat Magic’s Defender poses to us,” he tried, and Morgana shifted in her seat. 

“Arthur-” Morgana interrupted, but the king put up a hand to stop her.

“-Enough,” he commanded, the tone he practised for months when he ascended to the throne finally coming through, “I will not hear another word about it now. Magic has killed many in this kingdom, including my mother,” he paused with a sniff, “I will not repeal laws that keep us safe.” Morgana opened her mouth, clearly itching to say something. “I know when my father was king, you were outspoken then, too,” he tried to sound kinder, offering a smile, “but you cannot make our decisions.” 

“Sometimes you’ve got to do what you think is right, and damn the consequences.” She stared at him with a purpose, chin held high with her eyes searching for something from him. 

Arthur put a hand down on the table, curling both into fists as he brought the other to his mouth. He stayed in that position for a few moments, before dropping the hand and flexing his fingers; licking his lips, he jutted his chin out and set his eyes with a firmness he hated to employ, especially on those close to him. “I cannot risk the lives of my people, and that is what’s right.” 

They both stared at each other for what felt like an age, both as stubborn as the other, particularly with such political issues. Arthur was determined, though, and a wave of relief hit him when Morgana was the first to blink. The lady did so again, before redirecting her gaze to the meal once more, clearing her throat as she slid her hand over to her goblet. This time when she reached it, her hand clutched at it a little tighter, and the king could not help the pang of guilt in his chest as he watched from his position, not moving yet to grab his food. He opened his mouth to try and offer something, but closed it as Morgana had done, settling back in what felt like a hollow victory. 

The king grabbed at his bread more harshly than he had meant to, pulling it off his plate and tearing another section from it; he knew Morgana was aware of his movements, but she kept her eyes away from him as they were enveloped in a tense silence, and Arthur could not help his gruff movements before he used his anger chewing through the bread. He was almost grateful when George re-entered the room and opened his eyes wide with horror at the thought. 

“There is a messenger here for the Lady Morgana,” he bowed, and Arthur frowned at him before turning the expression towards the lady herself. He noticed she appeared less confused, although by the way she dropped the piece of food she had been holding and rushed to stand made him wonder if she was just glad to leave the room. His heart felt heavy in his chest and his eyes drifted as he considered how many friends his father lost in his position. 

“Probably another damned suitor,” Morgana said, and she caught his stare. “Even without your help, they won’t leave me alone.” Standing from the chair, she pressed her dress quickly. 

“You might like him,” Arthur tried with wavering joviality, but he understood her responding stare was one of feigned friendliness. 

“I won’t be leaving Camelot any time soon,” she said, punctuating the words with a hard stare, and Arthur understood the promise beneath it. 

“I didn’t mean...” he tried with a wave of his hand, but Morgana had already flicked the tail of her flowing dress behind her, and was making her way out of the room with a quick step and no look back. The king watched her go with his lips turned downwards, his gaze morose as the doors closed. 

“George,” he huffed, sweeping his hands together to remove the debris of his food, “I’m going hunting for the rest of the morning.” He nodded his head firmly at the servant still standing by the door, no more rigid than usual, but the faint grimace Arthur only picked up on because he had known the man for so long suggested he had picked up on the tension that had drowned the breakfast.


	3. Bad Blood

Morgana fisted her dress in her hands, scrunching it without much care as she skipped quickly down the stairs at the entrance of the castle. The sun shone heavily above, burning through the thin fabric of the shawl onto her pale skin, but she kept her mind and eyes off the light, looking down to concentrate on each step she took. When her feet hit the stone at the bottom, they finally stopped in their movements as she put a hand over her eyes to shield them from the almost blinding sunlight in order to search the area around her. When the messenger came into view, out of the way of the main courtyard in an area of shade, she set off to him with a sweet smile but a look of determination on her face. 

The messenger was young, dressed predominantly in black with his light brown tufts of curly hair sticking out. He must have been warm in the cloak he wore, but he gave no sign of it when Morgana reached him, instead, his neutral expression turned into one of warmth as he bowed to the lady. “Mordred,” she tutted, “what are you doing?” her words were filled with amusement at the sight, shaking her head at the boy brought himself back up. When he returned to his full height, no taller than the lady herself, she slid her hands into his, his own skin soft against hers as she gave him a motherly sort of stare. There was a blush colouring his cheeks, burning more into the pigment as she checked over him, but he smiled genuinely. 

“I come with news,” he breathed out with some urgency. Morgana only now noticed his panting, wondering how quickly he had rushed to come to her. Again, she wanted to check him over, but the way he gripped her hands suggested there were more pressing issues. Her eyes turned, a frown taking over the smile she had worn only seconds ago, but Mordred quickly shook his head, “no, there’s no need to worry, My Lady.” Usually, she would correct his use of such titles, but confusion overtook her and she waited for the boy to elaborate. “It’s good news,” he said finally with a smile, something so naive in it that Morgana did not mirror his jubilation immediately. 

“What is it?” she asked quickly, eyes going bigger to search him for answers. 

“The queen will see you to discuss the alliance.” Mordred finished, and Morgana felt herself take a sharp intake of breath, her eyes widening as the messenger watched her with a different sort of surprise; Mordred had already digested the information, but Morgana had to take it all in first to appreciate it. 

When she had, the breath she had been holding escaped her, causing her body to slump as her eyes drifted away from the boy in thought. “Perfect,” she whispered, eyes flitting from left to right. 

“It is.” She heard Mordred speak softly, though his voice did not match his words. Morgana gripped his hands tighter in hers, bringing her eyes to stare back at him, seeing the smooth edges around his eyes as his smile hardly reached them. 

“Mordred?” the lady asked, her brow coming down silently over her eyes. 

He shook his head, “I’m sorry, My Lady.” His eyes dropped to the floor and Morgana’s tried to follow.

“What is it?” her head tilted as she tried to pull the messenger back to her, “please.” Thumbs pressed down into his hands as Morgana swallowed, only to be rewarded when Mordred rolled his head over his shoulders. “Tell me,” she asked quietly, and the lady that had dined with the king only moments ago with her shoulders back and head held high in defiance could not be seen, replaced with a woman offering motherly compassion to the young boy. 

“Nothing.” Mordred brought his eyes back, and she could tell he was trying again for a more genuine smile as his own fingers pressed into her skin. “It’s nothing, just… it’s strange to think that soon, we might be free.” Finally, a wistful smile broke through the dry corners of his mouth, his tone high but far away with wonder. Morgana’s eyes dropped to see the grin form, mirroring it when it reached warm eyes. 

“I understand.” The lady nodded, bringing their hands up to their chests as her jaw set, “you must tell the queen that I will attend her this evening,” she whispered, her soothing tone soon morphing back into determination. 

“This evening?” Mordred asked with wide eyes, “what will you tell the king?”

Before she might answer, her ears picked up the sound of footfall too close to them, and she shook her head minutely to the messenger. She watched from her peripheral vision, cautiously holding back the conversation as she waited for the owner to shuffle past them. Her own breathing was controlled, but she felt Mordred go tense; the boy was young, but old enough to have experienced the threat of the knights of Camelot. Morgana rubbed her thumbs into his hands in slow circular motions, before the sound of the shuffling finally quietened, their owner moving away to do whatever job they had been tasked with. Morgana felt her heart drop, a deep breath escaping her, though she was unaware she had ever held it. 

“Don’t worry about Arthur,” she continued as if they had never been interrupted, settling the confident smile back on to her face. “The queen has a son.” She shrugged a shoulder, considering the lie she had chosen many times before, “Arthur never questions it, since he believes I have a line of suitors.” Her grin grew as her eyebrows raised. 

“You’ll tell him you’re meeting with the son to speak of _marriage_?” 

“As long as Arthur believes I am entertaining the idea of someone taking me away, or that I’m simply gone for the evening, I am sure that would make him happy.” 

Mordred smiled in return, but he soon gave her hands a final squeeze before letting them drop, “I’ll send word immediately.” 

* * *

Arthur lounged on the grass by the lake, a spot that had become a particular favourite because of the seclusion it offered as well as its magnificent beauty. The sun was rising overhead, but the king and Merlin both sat against a tree beside each other, looking out at the still water that reflected the light of the sunbeams against it. Arthur found that the clothes he wore on these particular trips were useful against the sun as they were so thin it felt like he wore nothing at all. He felt even cooler under the shade, but occasional glints of sunlight hit his unprotected face when the leaves around him could not cover the area it chose to shine through. The old bark was rough against his back as he leaned all his weight into it, one arm resting against his propped up knee, the other lying across his lap with the other leg kicked out; his clothes, worn by those without sufficient funds to purchase anything more substantial, were certainly not useful in protecting his skin from much nature offered. At the thought, he instinctively turned to his companion with a frown, wondering, not for the first time, if he might buy the man something better than those clothes he chose to wear. 

“What?” Merlin asked, with that crinkle above his nose he always got when he was confused, something Arthur would argue was a regular occurrence. 

Arthur scrunched his mouth to the side, but his frown disappeared when he decided gifts such as more luxurious clothing would only raise questions. “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. He felt the warlock’s eyes on him, knowing they stayed even when he turned away, but Merlin said nothing more to push him on it. 

“What’s got you in a huff, anyway?” the warlock asked instead, and no sooner had Arthur’s frown gone that it appeared once more. It seemed to be a permanent fixture when Merlin was around, and the wrinkles that deepened on his brow were doing nothing for his complexion. Merlin had told him once it simply came with age, to which Arthur responded with a light smack on the shoulder. 

“What do you mean?” _I’m fine_ , he would have added, but the look Merlin gave him when their eyes met effectively kept him quiet, especially when his partner interrupted. 

“I’ve known you long enough now to know that _that_ -” he waggled a finger at Arthur - “that is your pout. 

The king unconsciously changed his expression to something more neutral, although he crossed his arms as he argued back, “I do _not_ pout!” 

“Oh, really?” Merlin asked back with that irritating half-smile that said, _I’m right, and I know it._

“I’m just thinking, not something you’d understand, I know.” He said, turning away from the insufferable oaf. 

“Thinking about something that’s making you pout.” 

“Yes, and it’s talking to me,” he growled.

“That’s not very nice.” Arthur suddenly felt another urge to give the man a light slap, when he continued, “you might as well just tell me what it is. Or do you have to do a certain amount of pouting a day before you can actually admit to feeling something?” 

Arthur turned again to face the warlock, and once again a pain shot through his neck as it did so many times when he had conversations with this man before he let out a grunt. Merlin’s eyes widened with humour, a hand covering his mouth quickly to hide his laughter as if the sound that escaped Arthur’s lips had only proved him right. 

“I’ll admit that I’m feeling irritated by your incessant rambling!” 

“There we go.” Merlin patted him on the back with patronising congratulations, “knew you’d get there in the end.” 

The king stared at him for a long moment, many thoughts running through his head, the highlights questioning why he put up with this immense suffering, and how on earth Merlin still had his head on with such cheek, but eventually, his passion for a fight burned out quickly enough; he huffed a final angry sigh, pushing all his irritations in it before he knocked the tip of his head back against the tree. A dull pain reverberated in his skull, but nothing even close to the headache he had been nursing since breakfast. 

He was aware of shuffling beside him, and suddenly Merlin was even closer to him, the warlock leaning over him so that their eyes could meet. The humour had disappeared with Arthur’s anger, though, and Merlin’s eyes wore smoother edges as he asked tentatively, “what’s wrong?”

Arthur let his eyes drop closed, lids pressing together gently as his head rocked side to side against the tree, despite its roughness. He knew Merlin was sitting patiently waiting for him to reply, the man never let go of something he thought was important. It both irritated and warmed the king’s being, and some of the tension in his shoulders slipped away quietly. When Arthur opened his eyes, he was unsurprised Merlin was still in full view, and he brought his head back up to rest properly on his neck. “Nothing,” he let out in a breath, “only that my sister refuses to listen to me.” 

“She’s ignoring you?” 

Arthur nodded with a grimace, “I’d do better trying to draw blood from a stone.” 

Merlin laughed gently, his pointy ears drawing up with the smile, a sight that never ceased to cause a flutter in Arthur’s stomach, even during moments such as this. “Has it ever occurred to you that she might be in the right?” Arthur waited for the next laugh to follow, although he knew deep down it was not coming, and Merlin’s smile fashioned into one of a parent explaining something complex to a child. 

Pulling a face in disgust, the king huffed, “what on earth are you talking about?” 

“Just thought you should consider listening to another person for once,” Merlin replied with a sniff. 

“Shut up.” 

The command never had the usual effect anymore, Merlin only ever smiling when he uttered it, treating it as some endearment more than anything. Arthur looked away because that man’s beaming grin was damn infectious, and he refused to give Merlin even this small victory. He nudged the warlock with his leg, but it hardly did anything to damper either smile, if anything it only made Merlin’s grow.

He felt the warlock settle back against the tree with effort, but it was only so long before the man was compelled to say more, as he often was. “I’d love to meet her, your sister.” Arthur turned, hearing the change of tone as he watched Merlin’s fingers pick aimlessly at strands of grass between them, eyes downcast. “I could ask her how she manages to annoy you so much, get some new ideas.” He laughed, but it was the sort filled with a deeper sadness, rather than any real joy, and the sound clutched at Arthur’s heart, painfully making a home there. 

He huffed a laugh that he tried to add humour to, but with little success, and he painted on his crooked, cocky grin as he replied, “you two would get along _too_ well, I think.” The king was rewarded with some reaction, but there was little effort in it, and what there was only served to drive the pain further. When he paused for a moment, Merlin brought his eyes up, staring at him with that wisdom that Arthur could not comprehend, but the king said anyway, “maybe one day, but…” He trailed off, the hope he was not even sure made a genuine appearance leaving almost instantly.

“I know,” Merlin whispered, his fingers brushing against Arthur’s elbow on the grass. 

Arthur knew he understood but felt compelled to say more, “Camelot’s becoming more accepting, but it will take time.” He offered, but a sudden thought struck him as he eyed Merlin, a man who knew so much about magic. Clearing his throat, he mentioned, “I’ve heard that the king’s facing opposition from a powerful sorcerer, and there are fears of another war.” He wondered if the information had come out as casually as he had shaped it in his mind, but he knew anyway that Merlin was the type of person who, when faced with the politics of Camelot, delved straight into it without question. 

“Would the king consider peace?” Merlin sat up straighter, his eyes searching Arthur quickly.

Arthur sucked his teeth in at the question, because, would he? Of course, he wished only for peace and prosperity in his kingdom, but to allow the freedom of magic in all its form and power would require him to forget everything he knew of it, his father’s words against it, and the danger it posed. He looked at Merlin then, who sat up hopefully, with kind eyes and a boyish face, with the ears of a pixie and a toothy grin that often made Arthur question how somebody like him could wield any sort of power at all, particularly magic. Then his mind drifted to those times he had seen what sorcerers could do, the powerful magic Merlin himself could wield, and he was still unsure how he could repeal laws with only this one man in mind. 

“Arthur?” he heard Merlin’s voice ask again, some concern, some humour within it, and he brought his eyes back into focus, wondering when they had lost it. 

“Things have been better in the kingdom, but I can’t be sure. His father put the laws in place to keep the kingdom safe.” There was a regret filling him as he said the words, but he knew already that Merlin only wanted the truth, however harsh, and watching the warlock then, he saw no signs of anger on his face. 

“Why?” Merlin asked, and Arthur’s wrinkles showed themselves once more. “Why is your kingdom so afraid of magic?” 

“The war,” Arthur said. Merlin did not respond, so the king elaborated, “many were alive during it, or have suffered indirectly from it. Fears aren’t as high as they once were, but since rumours are spreading about a new threat, old anxieties are returning.” 

“What happened to cause the Great War?”

“What do you mean?” 

“I wasn’t born,” Merlin explained, “and I live outside of Camelot. I’ve only ever heard different tales of it.” 

“Oh,” Arthur mouthed.

“What happened?” Merlin asked again, quite insistent. 

Arthur stared at him with a wariness he had grown into as his reign went on, and he often wondered if his father carried the same weight. Merlin seemed eager, but the king was unsure, and he coughed. The warlock watched him, though, with a hawklike stare, and Arthur felt too unnerved to refuse him, “alright.” He settled, shifting to give himself time to find the words. “The previous king of Camelot, Uther, had been allied with those with magic, as those had before him. The kingdom flourished with magical life-”

“Yeah,” Merlin interrupted with some delight flickering in his eyes, “that’s always been a constant in each tale I’ve heard.” 

“Right,” Arthur continued with a nod, refraining from once again asking for quiet. “With such people, it was necessary for those with magic to have some involvement in court life…” 

* * *

_ The murmurs and bustle of the citadel drifted into the castle, the area surrounding it bursting with all kinds of life. Inside the castle was hardly different, with servants, knights, and noblemen and women sometimes hurrying, sometimes strolling, through the palace as they usually joined in idle chatter with someone about nothing in particular. If one were to glance out of the windows, the same view would not be spotted twice; those with magic often put on a show for those without, capturing attention quickly and easily, with different spells every time so their audience were never bored, sometimes for money, but also some for nothing. Inside the castle, the use of magic was more refined, but of course, displays were put on by travelling sorcerers. Still, those with magic within the castle worked to educate those without it.  _

“The king and queen got on well with many of those in court, including those who directed them in terms of all things magical.” 

_ The royals were in the throne room, separated, both in conversation with different people. King Uther spoke jovially with a man not much different to him in age or in height, carried in swathes of blue robes with greying black hair almost long enough to reach his shoulders. He wore a closely trimmed beard, and his deep baritone voice matched his heavy appearance. His laughter, too, was deep and hearty, and he threw his shoulders back as Uther shared some joke with him, the king resting a hand on his shoulder. Both men appeared as domineering figures, neither needing to ask for command, but being granted it as soon as they entered the room. The man in blue had kind eyes, but a fierce presence; Uther had a crown on his shorter head of hair, but more importantly, a stern expression and piercing eyes that followed their victim without room for argument.  _

_ Queen Ygraine was younger, and spoke with a woman similar to her in age also, a woman dressed in a simple pink dress with brown hair that trailed over her shoulders, brushing against the pale skin. Ygraine envied her companion’s straight locks, her own hair a fine blonde that she preferred to have in an updo, but the pair were close, sharing many things as they did at this moment.  _

_ “Nimueh?” the queen asked, her eyes lighting up as their previous conversation left them.  _

_ Nimueh rolled her eyes with a fondness that had grown with her friendship, hearing the unasked question before the queen had even said her name. “I don’t remember performing for the queen as one of my many duties as Court Sorceress.” The corner of her lip twitched, and Ygraine would have backed down, but the pair had gone through this so many times that she understood the joke in her friend’s words.  _

_ “You are my servant,” she spoke back clearly, bringing her chin up so as to stare down her nose with mock authority. “It would do you well to remember your place; do as I say, or face the consequences.” Her commanding voice became exaggerated as the queen stared down her Court Sorceress, stance challenging.  _

_ “Of course, Your Majesty.” Nimueh bowed overdramatically, a hand wrapped over her stomach as she ducked, holding her body in the servant’s position longer than was necessary. As she brought herself back up, her eyes caught the queen’s before her back straightened properly, and a laugh bubbled up her throat as Ygraine shared a smile. “What would you like to see?” she asked then, more seriously.  _

_ “Anything.” The queen shook her head, her eyes filling with something close to awe even before a single spell was uttered. “Although,” she twitched a grin with a quirk of an eyebrow, “I don’t know if there’s anything else you could show me.”  _

_ A scoff left Nimueh’s lips before she crossed her arms, “trust me, there is much you have yet to see.”  _

_ “Show me,” Ygraine commanded.  _

_ Nimueh nodded once, her arms falling to her sides with her smile, as she concentrated most of her efforts on the power she was about to summon through her. The sorceress barely moved, only bringing a hand up to call upon her magic, like lightning running through her veins. Ygraine watched carefully, entranced already, even while there was nothing yet there to see.  _

_ That was until there was a sparkle of light, a breath of smoke, and a whisper of a spell. Ygraine’s eyes were hit with the sun streaming through the windows as they tracked the smoke in front of her, forming effortlessly into a horse. The movements of its neck as it shook its mane, neighing with delight whilst it trotted its hooves on the spot without making a sound, made the queen’s heart stop for a beat as her breath caught in her throat. It was similar magic to that Nimueh had shown her some time before, yet she still felt her soul fill with something as she was struck with complete amazement, almost knocking her over where she stood. A wondrous laugh escaped her lips with the breath she had been holding and her eyes followed the horse as it trotted softly around the room, defying every logic as it used ceilings and walls as its ground. Eventually, it came around to Ygraine, and Nimueh laughed as the queen reached out a hand to stroke it, only to meet with air. The smoke flew through her, breaking up before reforming as if it had never been apart, as if this shape was always the form it was supposed to take.  _

_ Ygraine’s voice filled with wonder as she continued to watch it create its own path, “it must be a great gift.” Her voice sounded faraway, distracted as the horse took her voice with it. “To be able to summon such power,” she said more clearly, “it is a beautiful thing.”  _

_ Nimueh nodded to her absentmindedly, her attention caught by the men sharing a laugh on the other side of the room.  _

“Queen Ygraine was close to Nimueh, but the High Priestess set her sights higher than anyone would have imagined.” 

_ The sorceress ducked into an alcove when she saw the light of a flame hover around the corner, highlighting the shadow of a single knight, no doubt followed by another. Her hands planted against the stone wall as her body pressed against it, waiting a moment before risking a quick glance into the area she had just left. Slowly, a fraction of her head dipped out of the hiding spot, a single blue eye watching the flame as it bobbed, clutched in the hand of a guard. The corridor she had chosen was one that was deep within the castle; there were no lamps on the walls to guide the way through it as it was usually left vacant, but Nimueh could use her magic as a source of guidance, quickly able to cast it away should trouble find her.  _

_ She guessed she heard the footfall of two guards, listening with a hitch of breath as the sounds grew closer to her hiding spot. Nimueh pressed closer into the wall as if she might hide in it, but there was nothing more she could do as she quietened her breathing. Fortunately, despite Uther’s strict rule, his guards were complacent men, missing even the most obvious things. Nimueh’s smile became crooked when they passed her unfazed, glad that she had no need for a spell to distract or harm them. Whilst it could be entertaining to watch their confused faces trying to figure out what they had just seen or heard, the sorceress was in a hurry, the queen having kept her longer that night than she had intended.  _

_ As soon as she was sure the corridor was clear, the light of flame fading against the turning wall to one end of the corridor, Nimueh slowly slunk out from the alcove with a hesitant step, hands dragging on the stone before falling completely. Still, she ensured both ends of the corridor were empty before she brought her hand up so that her palm lay flat, whispering into it, “leoht.” The quick spell produced a white light that beamed bright enough to guide her, but would not attract attention if she held it close enough to her. Nodding to herself, Nimueh picked up her pace, following the corridor out to an exit of the palace that was only ever used in times of emergency.  _

_ Her dark cloak trailed behind her, flicking up as she turned her quick walk into a run as soon as she was far enough, racing to the forest close to the citadel. Her eyes scanned the trees surrounding her quickly, following the symbols left on a few to guide her to her followers, carved into the bark with simple magic that fools would easily mistake as natural causes. Her breath quickened as her speed grew, knowing she was getting closer.  _

_ “Finally decided to show up, then.” A voice caught her attention before she came to an abrupt halt, her head stationary but eyes moving cautiously as if she might see what was behind her.  _

_ “I told you she’d be here,” another voice spoke from a different direction, but this one she certainly recognised, a sigh of relief escaping her as each voice became a face appearing from behind the trees, along with those who stayed silent.  _

_ “You’re late,” the first voice spat at her, ignoring the second. The followers circled her, staying as quiet as they could whilst their feet trod on the wet ground. The area was secluded, the darkness of the night shielding them from view as they all covered themselves in fabric.  _

_ “And you’re irritating,” she drawled, shooting him an uncaring look. From what she could see, he raised an eyebrow back to her, but his silence admitted his defeat. “The queen kept me later than expected, so fascinated with my power.”  _

_ “Evidently she’s easy to impress,” the leading voice finally swiped back. “It’s not important, anyway.” He crossed his arms, putting all his weight on one leg, “what have you summoned us here for?”  _

_ “The king is weak, and his wife even more so. Those without magic should not rule over those with it.” Her feet turned slowly, bringing her eyes around the circle to face each follower as she spoke, grabbing all of their attention even in her pause. “They act like our friends, but their control keeps us shackled,” she spat, “we are superior.”  _

_ There were murmurings, before a voice spoke up from the small crowd, “maybe, but what can we do?”  _

_ “We must unite and bring down their inferior kingdoms.”  _

_ “How?”  _

_ “I’ve already started.” A corner of her painted pink lips flicked up as she smiled maliciously, “I have gained the trust of the naive queen. We must connect our kin, bring them together, and when the time is right,” she paused eyes hovering ever so slowly over each and every person in the crowd. Her hand came up, arm brushing against the fabric of her cloak before she held it in plain sight. “We must be ready to strike,” she finished, crushing her hand into a fist as she did so.  _

_ The atmosphere surrounding them was eerie, the moon lighting up the sky but offering those meeting in secret very little. Their eyes all flicked to one another, the whites of them being the only thing many could see of those further from them, but it was enough to convey their thoughts.  _

_ “When will the time be?” someone called up finally, breaking the silence surrounding them.  _

_ “The queen is to have a child,” Nimueh informed them. “I could not prevent his birth, but if I can get to him in time, we can ensure that Uther Pendragon cannot be succeeded. Then, we can unite, and take the kingdom.”  _

“The child was born, but Nimueh didn’t care for the celebration. Only a few days after the prince came into the world, the sorceress did whatever she could to gain the power she desired.” 

_ Nimueh had become so practised in sneaking around the castle that it was almost second nature to her; she hid before the guards could even signal their arrival, blended in with staff, and one night, she easily found her way into the chambers where the baby prince rested. The sorceress slipped effortlessly into the room after a whisper of a spell to open the door without the slightest creak. Silently, she tiptoed over to where the small bundle slept soundly, and her thoughts might have wandered to how the boy with only wisps of hair resembled his mother. Her eyes flew over to the main bed, fixing on the figure draped in blankets after a difficult birth, worn out and sleeping as soundly as her new son. Were she a true friend, Nimueh might have felt some emotion at the scene, but her focus stayed diligently on the task she had set out on.  _

_ Leaning over the cot, her eyes fixed coldly on the figure she saw as nothing but an irritating obstacle. Her heart picked up as her eyes began to drift into a golden haze, the words on her lips as she opened her mouth. Although ready to say the words she had no need to practise, different ones were spoken before she had the chance.  _

_ “Leave him alone,” a voice gritted out fiercely. Nimueh had never been the receiver of the commanding tone she was familiar with, having heard it many times when authority had to be used. It caused her to pause in her task, with a hint of amusement in her expression, the golden hue fading more quickly than it had entered her eyes. A snide, cutting smile replaced the determined stare she had held only moments before.  _

_ “Queen Ygraine,” she sighed, “you really should be resting.” The words were caring, but her tone warning.  _

_ Ygraine was weak, her knees shaking beneath her as they carried a weight they had not held in days, her whole body shivering without the strength it required. Her eyes went wide, though, when she heard the reply, her heart sinking deep within her chest, but she had shown her own determination many times, and she managed to keep herself upright. “Nimueh?” she whispered into the almost suffocating air, her voice desperate in disbelief.  _

_ “Yes.” The sorceress turned to greet her, with an extravagant, over the top yet dismissive wave of her hand, “it is I.” Her crooked grin emphasised her mocking of a part of their friendship that was now being used as an attack, and Ygraine felt the sting deep within. Nimueh barely even flinched when Ygraine’s already wan face somehow turned whiter, the authoritative face falling a little as a flash of hurt crossed it.  _

_ “You are my friend,” the queen said, wasting her breath as she tried to reassure herself.  _

_ “You are gullible and weak,” Nimueh spat, holding her chin high as she looked down at the queen as if she was nothing more than an inconvenience. “You are  _ nothing _to me and my kind.”_

_ The queen’s expression turned into something of confusion, “what are you doing?” she asked, trying to ignore the hurt. “Can it not be resolved some other way?” her eyes shone with fresh tears ready to spill while Nimueh waited to spill blood, but Ygraine held herself admirably.  _

_ Nimueh laughed callously in response, the sound biting and cold, the kind that struck to the very core of your being in unbearable pain. “I’m afraid there is nothing you can do.” She shook her head, the smile on her face showing just how little she truly cared, leaving the queen to wonder just what about their friendship had been real.  _

_ Ygraine opened her mouth, aching to say more, but before she might have pleaded with the sorceress for their friendship, for her life, for that of her son, Nimueh yawned with boredom. There was little effort to the spell that ended a life, a simple short mutter would draw the light from one’s body; the blue eyes once again became engulfed in gold as Nimueh grew weary of their chatter, and the sorceress flicked a wrist towards Ygraine as she bit out the words, “swilte, Ygraine!” a swift spell with severe consequences, and the queen’s shock was overtaken by the fear of the breath leaving her lungs but nothing being taken in. She did not so much as fall to the ground as melted down into a puddle of nightclothes, her hands grappling at her chest desperately as her eyes widened in pleading, her pathetic attempts to breathe in failing helplessly. Once the spell was cast, it could not be undone, but the sorceress looked down at the body unflinchingly, staring into the eyes until they lost what made them Ygraine’s, and there was no regret in her own, the gold clearing slowly. Ygraine’s last sight was that of Nimueh, standing over her with a look of triumph.  _

* * *

“The queen fell, dying slowly under Nimueh.” Arthur finished, swallowing hard as he tried to control the wave of emotions coming over him. 

“But the child,” Merlin asked, apparently not noticing Arthur’s distant stare, “he was left unharmed?” 

Arthur shrugged halfheartedly, trying to ignore how his chest began to ache by the time he reached the end of the tale, having no memory of it himself since he was so young, but hearing once more how his mother had died protecting him. “The alarm was raised-” he cut himself off with a cough, a heavy lump in his throat overpowering his voice - “the alarm had been raised as soon as Nimueh entered the room. The knights found her after she killed m-” he stopped for the second time, this time correcting himself - “Ygraine, and surrounded her.” 

“What happened?” Merlin leaned in. 

“She disappeared and hasn’t been seen since.” 

Arthur finally focused to see Merlin frowning at him, “could she not have fought them?”

“I don’t know.” The king rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, his whole body feeling sore, “perhaps there were too many.” He was aware that Merlin’s stare narrowed further, so he rushed on, “but, finding the queen dead, the king declared war.” 

“And that’s why the War and then the Purge began.” Merlin nodded slowly in realisation, “to avenge her death and the betrayal.” The warlock’s voice sounded understanding but lost at the same time, and Arthur watched as his partner’s eyes took on the distanced stare this time. He began to wonder if Merlin had ever seen any executions himself, his mind supplying the memory of the afternoon he had seen the warlock after losing a friend. He gulped, feeling a surge of guilt twirling in with his own grief, and he tried again to offer some hope, however feeble.

“There are fewer burnings now, as I said. Those that occur are mostly in villages.” He tacked on at the end as if it was supposed to be some consolation. He pulled a face at his own words, but the warlock was too deep in his mind to notice. 

“But there’s still fear,” Merlin replied with significantly less hope, making Arthur’s head hurt even more as he wondered what he could do for the best. 


	4. We're All In

Cenred strolled out of the gates with his eyes set keenly on the horse carrying the hooded woman. The animal shook its head, presumably tired from a long journey while a servant held out a hand to the lady bringing her legs over the side. her movements were slow and awkward as her own hand gripped that of the servant; his expression never changed as he helped the lady, but Cenred did not miss the servant’s quick shake of his bruised hand when his visitor finally let go. The king rubbed his own together as he watched the display, the lady stumbling when her feet hit the ground, but catching herself quickly enough that she did not fall. The servant still hovered beside her in case she might lose her footing again. It was barely a second after that the boy scuttled away, Cenred unable to tell exactly what had unfolded, but guessing by the servant’s speed that there had been threats involved. His lip twitched as he watched the woman’s head turn so that her gaze could follow the servant, and Cenred made his way over to her with a strange delight curling within him. 

Painting on a disgustingly charming smile, his teeth showing as he grew closer to the visitor, he greeted her with a bow. “My Lady,” he waved a hand as he bowed, remaining low for only a few seconds before coming back up to face her, his smile remaining as charming as before. His hand reached out as she stared, unable to resist the beauty shadowed by the hood of the cloak. The lady had other ideas, however, and her skin touched his before he had intended; chipped, painted nails wrapped around his wrist in an instant, the hand curling in a vice that was weaker than she must have believed it to be. Still, who was he to disappoint? Humouring her, his fingers twitched in the grip as he softened his smile a fraction. The shadow deepened underneath the hood, thick brows falling over thunderous eyes as the guest snarled, “I don’t have long, Cenred.” Was it wrong that he felt his blood pumping a little quicker when she said his name? “You’d better make this worth my while.” 

“I certainly can,” he replied smoothly, raising an eyebrow with a hint of suggestion. 

“I mean it,” she bit back, and he felt a shiver run through his spine as her teeth clenched. 

“Will you come in?” Cenred tried, always unable to resist a vengeful woman. “We can prepare you some food,” he leaned in to whisper, breath blowing at the hood still covering her face, “you’ve come a long way, after all.” His eyes locked with his guest’s meaningfully, and he noticed hers watching him carefully for a moment before he could see the fire stoked within her; he felt his own boiling, too, but he knew it was likely for a different reason. 

“Like I said,” she gritted out, her grip on his hand tightening slightly, “I just want an answer.” 

“You are certainly direct.” His eyes fell to their hands, the king refusing to say anything more until she let go. It took longer than he would have liked, but eventually her grip dropped, her glare taking on the role of holding him. Of course, his interest had already been piqued and he rocked back on his feet as his eyes went dark with desire. “I like that in a woman.” 

“And I prefer the company of dead men,” his visitor replied without hesitation, and he would be lying if he said it did not send a spark through his body. Cenred’s grin did fall slightly, however, when she continued, “tell me, Cenred, will you be one of them?” 

He was careful to draw out his answer, feeling some strange satisfaction when her impatience grew with his silence, although she tried to hide any reaction under the hood. Eventually, he threw his head back with a hearty laugh, his whole body taking part in the sound, “how could I resist?” he said easily, holding his arms out wide as his expression grew to match. “Even without your charms, My Lady,” he winked, ignoring the recipient’s grimace, “I would happily watch Camelot torn down brick by brick.” 

His eyes caught the whisper of a grin in the shadow as the lady replied, “and then, we will watch it burn.” 

* * *

Merlin trudged through the grass to an area deep within the forest, his feet guiding him there from memory as his eyes stuck to the ground, focused in thought. He watched each foot take their steps before he reached his destination, the Druid camp hidden away, bursting with quiet life. This was one of the longest campsites they had been able to stay, and Merlin was used to living on the move. They never went far, and nobody would ever mention their precarious lifestyle, but even in the smiles of the children their worries could be seen. Growing up in a Druid camp was done quickly, and while they enjoyed themselves as much as they could, they were always prepared to flee in a moment’s notice. 

When he began to recognise the grass beneath his feet, the green fading into brown as it became more mud and dirt, his eyes flew up as he scanned the area to see the sights that those outside of the community could never see, their own thoughts bringing images over reality to replace kindness with danger, before the peaceful people fled their camp in a flurry. Some camps were more organised than others, and Merlin was glad that their _de facto_ leader prepared them often. 

His eyes finally found the man, sitting alone while undertaking some small task with great concentration. As Merlin stayed for a moment just on the border of the little site, he knew the older man was aware of his presence and would be watching him as keenly as he could from the corner of his eye. The warlock was unsure exactly how long he had been gone this time, but he knew Aglain would have something to say about it anyway, because he always did. 

Once he found the courage to carry himself over to the quiet man, he sat himself carefully beside him, eyes roaming over the rest of the camp as Aglain did not grant him his attention. Merlin knew he would be refused for a time, as it was often Aglain’s way to unnerve those who were to eventually receive some strict words wrapped in a wise and even stare. The warlock rested his elbows on his knees, sighing loudly as the man beside him continued his work unperturbed. Merlin had been in this position too many times to feel any discomfort his guardian tried to instil with his pointed silence. The camp was filled with noises, hushed, but enough to remind them all that they were still alive. Merlin was aware of eyes watching him from one area of the camp, but he had little time to care for their intention when he heard the low voice of Aglain finally speak up. 

“Where have you been?” he asked, his tone non-committal while his face was turned away. Merlin was aware of the test, though, as well as the warning. 

Inhaling a deep breath, taking on a grin with it, Merlin decided to take a closer look at what his guardian was doing as his smile turned genuine, “aren’t you supposed to get the younger ones to do that?” when Aglain did not respond he continued, “you know, pretending it’s some sort of lesson?” He noticed the man’s shoulders slump, hearing a huff of breath before Aglain stopped his movements and set his work down for the first time since Merlin had returned. The older man turned to him then, settling him with an even stare that carried discipline and authority earned with years of leadership, but the eyes were tired, too. Exhausted with the life of an innocent runaway, but also with having to deal with fools like Merlin as well. Merlin’s smile grew innocently, “I guess they’re no longer falling for those tricks,” he said, when Aglain remained silent still. 

“Well,” Aglain’s tone filled with some humour, finally falling into the conversation, “none of them are quite as gullible as you.” 

Merlin opened his mouth wide as he sputtered, waving an accusatory finger at his guardian, “I knew it!” Aglain’s lips twitched at the corner, not quite committing to the smile, but Merlin still counted it as a victory. 

A victory that was short lived, unfortunately, when the older man let out a deep sigh, rubbing his hands across his legs before fixing Merlin with a less amiable stare. The warlock tried not to fidget, but even his own smile shrunk a little then, fully aware of what was coming next. “You were with him again, your friend, weren’t you?”

Merlin tried to keep his voice cheerful, “why would you think that?” 

Aglain laughed, but the sound was humourless and Merlin’s eyes watched him carefully, before his guardian heaved a heavy sigh and rubbed a hand over his temple. “Because I am not as gullible as you used to be, either.” Merlin would have laughed at the joke, but there was only exhaustion in his guardian’s tone, his weariness almost palpable. 

Ducking his head, Merlin’s smile finally faded fully under the guilt weighing on him, feeling any attempt at cheer slip away from him in a heartbeat. “He’s kind,” he whispered, jutting his chin out as he looked away, picking aimlessly at a stray thread on his trousers. “Really.” 

He could feel Aglain’s eyes burning into him as the man hummed, clearly unconvinced as he had been so many times before; Merlin never blamed him, but wished he could try and change his view. “Does he know everything? Does he know about your magic?” 

Bringing his head up, he stared at Aglain earnestly, “he knows about my magic.” 

Aglain’s lips thinned as his eyes narrowed, “and he is not afraid?” 

Merlin opened his mouth to say something, because he wished to say _no, he accepts me_ , to put the fears out before they might fully ignite, but he made no sound at all. Aglain watched him carefully, and he knows the man would have caught his hesitation; he stuttered, preparing himself again to say the lie that should have come easily to him, but although he had learned to deal with Aglain in some respects, this was the stare he still had to learn not to buckle under. He blinked and when he opened his eyes Aglain was still there waiting. “He was,” he said after swallowing hard, his fingers picking more at themselves than at the thread then, “but he’s less so, now.” He was quick to emphasise, seeing the objection ready on the tip of Aglain’s lips. His guardian’s eyebrows furrowed, “I think he wants to understand it all,” he added awkwardly. 

“Merlin-”

“Please,” the warlock stopped his guardian before he had the chance. Aglain’s mouth did not close, but Merlin waited with a plea in his eyes, a stare he knew his guardian himself had not learned how to say no to. “You don’t know him.”

“I know what he is, I know others _like him_.” 

“I know.” Merlin nodded solemnly, lives flashing through both of their minds in a second. “He’s getting better,” Aglain raised an eyebrow, “but there’s something holding him back.” The warlock paused, hoping his guardian might push him to speak, because he was not sure if he could say it. 

“What is it?” The older man asked, able to read Merlin well enough now. 

“He told me… about the war.” 

“The war?” Aglain leaned back a little with a frown, “what did he tell you?” 

Again, Merlin struggled to find the words, but without a push from Aglain this time he forced himself to carry on. “That Nimueh killed Camelot’s queen,” he finally breathed out. Aglain stared at him for a very long time, the tension growing so much so that Merlin could not handle the silence, relaying every piece of information he had garnered from Arthur. 

By the time he had finished, Aglain was shaking his head with a smile that was far from happy, and while he took his eyes away from the warlock Merlin could feel the anger radiating from him. “That is not the story,” he spat.

“I know,” Merlin nodded, “I was confused, you know I’ve only ever heard different.” His voice carried only a trace of doubt, but Aglain caught the scent of it like a sniffer dog, waiting to pounce. The guardian’s hand was on his arm in an instant, and Merlin’s eyes widened at the same time that Aglain’s own caught his. 

“Merlin, you know the truth,” he said, his voice sounding more desperate than Merlin had ever heard it. 

Again, he nodded, a little more out of nervousness this time than anything, “I know.” When Aglain’s stare continued to bore into him, he repeated it more firmly. 

“You have doubts.” It was not a question, and Merlin felt himself shrink. 

“No,” he tried, but his shoulders slumped helplessly, “I don’t know. I obviously don’t believe it, but… others do.” He struggled, but when Aglain only let out a sigh, he knew the man understood what he tried to explain, because Merlin was yet to find something the man did not understand. 

“Merlin, the version you know is correct.” Aglain reassured with softer eyes, pressing down on Merlin’s arm as the sincerity in his voice made the warlock feel guilty for even mentioning it. “But,” Aglain’s eyes fell, “if you need further confirmation, you must write to Gaius.” 

The warlock frowned, “Gaius? Who’s that?” 

“He was the court physician during the war, and I believe he still holds the position.” Aglain informed him, “he knows the truth.”

Merlin’s frown deepened, something in Aglain’s tone throwing him off, “he’s still in the court? Do you trust him?” 

Aglain shrugged, “he saved some from the pyre, but he has also seen many burn.” His lips thinned, “but he is the only person still living close enough to Uther to know the truth, and he will tell you.” 

“Why would he do that?” 

“Because the amount of guilt on his shoulders will force him to finally do something good, I have no doubt.” 

* * *

Morgana was so used to dealing with the eagerness of drooling male nobility that it was an odd but extremely welcome change to sit in the company of the refined, older Queen Annis. Of course, playing her part for fun more than anything, Morgana asked after the ruler’s son, although the queen was just as keen to get down to business as Morgana, and they settled in a quiet room in the unfamiliar castle. This palace seemed colder than the one she had come from, with a ruler comfortable in the position she had held for many years now. 

The evening was settling over them, the lamps hanging on the walls surrounding the simple room doing little to brighten it in the overpowering darkness, but Morgana had never had much of an issue making such deals in the dark. Annis offered her a drink, having sent away her servant as soon as Morgana had arrived, and the lady realised quickly just how different their kingdoms were. She shuddered at the thought of bringing Gwen with her, and not only because of her reasons for meeting with the queen, but because she had soon seen that servants of Caerleon were often neither seen nor heard. Morgana supposed that not every noble, in fact, very few, chose to befriend their servants. Annis was old, more experienced in her rule than Arthur, it was clear in the way she strode her castle, silently communicating with any that passed her; she was a strong, determined ruler, one Morgana doubted had the time to exchange chatter with anyone, even if she wished to engage with her servants. 

“Morgana,” the queen’s tone was cold as she poured the wine into her own goblet, attention focused on the lady sitting opposite. Once she had finished, she set the jug down quietly, settling back into her seat with a tilt of her head, “you ask for an alliance.” She spoke matter-of-factly, but Morgana knew there was a question in there. 

“I trust you,” Morgana replied, having practised the conversation almost a hundred times over, “my father spoke well of you, from what little I remember of him.” 

Annis hummed with a nod, “Gorlois was a good man, honourable.” Her eyes narrowed, “I do wonder what he might think of you, if he knew you were creating such alliances.” Of course, the queen would not be distracted from her purpose for more than a second, and Morgana had to admit she admired the woman for pulling them back to the matter at hand. 

Morgana raised her chin so it held her head high, replying with a bite, “my father’s loyalty to Camelot died with him, when he was betrayed by its king.” Her head remained in its lofty position as the queen watched her with wonder, her eyes still narrowed as she continued to try and fathom the lady out; Morgana tried to give as little away as possible, holding the stare. 

Eventually, Annis leaned forward with a tug at the corner of her lips, “but Uther is dead, and Arthur is not his father.” 

“No,” Morgana agreed, “and yet he models himself on him in almost every respect.” The queen waited for her to continue, refusing to keep asking why it was she was at the castle. “Particularly when it comes to magic.” 

“The laws against magic remain,” Annis shifted in her seat with a breath, “I am aware of the Purge. Still, I am sure I have heard that such prejudices had cooled since his accession to the throne?” 

Morgana huffed a harsh laugh, an indignant smile taking the place of her stoicism, “we tell ourselves there is a change, because it helps us sleep at night.” Her eyes wandered, focusing on the empty stone walls surrounding them as she crossed her arms, her smile growing bitter, “we tell ourselves that at least there are no flames in the citadel, ignoring the streams of smoke pouring from the villages, clogging the lungs of everyone in the kingdom as a reminder that those prejudices remain in the hearts of many.” Blinking, Morgana was no longer surprised at such outbursts as she had too often tried to plead with Uther and Arthur to see some sense. When she turned back to face the queen, however, it appeared that she was somewhat taken aback, although she was putting in her typical stalwart effort to appear unfazed. “Without a repeal of those laws, the people will continue to fear magic, and exploit that fear,” she finished sternly. 

Queen Annis regarded her once more in silence, this time Morgana hoped she was not fooling herself when she believed she saw some admiration in the queen’s closed off expression. As the minutes dragged on, Morgana pushed down the strange feeling in her stomach, aware of how much Annis enjoyed drawing out these moments of tension as the queen took a long sip of her drink without a word. The queen knew, of course, that she would always hold her subject’s attention, and Morgana made little effort to hide the fact. 

Smacking her lips dry, the queen crossed her hands together on the table, “I understand your passion in the fight for magic in Camelot. However, I fail to see my motivation for joining the cause, since the fight is hardly mine.” She levelled a thoughtful stare at Morgana, the lady glad to be taken so seriously for once, “to risk my soldiers in alliance with you for a fight that is not mine nor theirs, it would require a great reward.” Again, the question was left unsaid, but Morgana took the hint. 

“As you understand my own motivation, you know that I have no desire to control a kingdom, as long as I can ensure the freedom of my kind.”

Annis raised an eyebrow, appearing amused as well as surprised, “and how can I be sure that you will not turn back on your word, _Witch_?” 

Morgana ignored the term, “I am here,” she replied simply. “If I was powerful enough, what need would I have to bow down to you, requesting your assistance?” Annis remained silent, so Morgana continued, “of course, you could not take the whole kingdom, but I can guarantee you a satisfactory amount, should your assistance be required.” 

The queen slowly leaned back in her chair, considering the offer with more seriousness than any of Morgana’s proposals had been faced with by the rulers of Camelot. The lady was happy to give her as much time as she required, ignoring the anxiety bubbling up in her stomach, making sure her face remained as neutral as Annis’ had when they had first sat down. 

Finally, the queen nodded firmly once, “you are clever, Morgana, as your father was. You will have my support, should it be needed.” 

Morgana’s smile grew, but she tempered it, along with the wave of relief she felt roll over her, trying to remain calm as she thanked the queen. “Thank you,” she bowed her head, “you will not regret an alliance with the New Order.” 

Annis finally offered something close to a smile then, but her eyes seemed to hold a final question, and she asked, “but Morgana, if Arthur proves himself to be honourable and changes his mind regarding magic, what will you do?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the later update! Hope you enjoy it; if you do, lemme know! :)


	5. Playing with Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter! Lemme know if you do! 
> 
> **Unfortunately I will be away from Thursday until Sunday, so I won't have chance to post chapter 6 (Would I Lie to You?) until the Monday, so I'll post it at the same time as chapter 7 and give you a double whammy then :)**

Deep in the heart of the castle, down a narrow corridor much cooler and darker than most of the palace, was where the court physician resided. He squinted to read the words on a crumpled piece of paper held between his wrinkly fingers. The lettering was not the neatest, but Gaius looked through the reading glasses on the tip of his nose with some admiration for the effort the writer had evidently put in. Clearly the author had been given some sort of education, but unfortunately not enough so that the old man did not struggle with some of the words scribbled down. The physician had little time to dwell on what the swirls of ink meant in terms of their owner’s education, since their meaning carried much more weight, and he had already been sitting for some time wondering over the contents. He pressed the letter on to the table and gathered supplies to write a response, but took some time to assess the consequences of what he would write. His pen met paper, occasionally leaving an ink spot, but never anything more as the old man dawdled. 

The light rose through the small window high above him, brightening up the paper, surprising Gaius as he realised just how long he had been sat wondering. Again, his eyes scanned over the completed letter, but he had gone over it so much he almost knew it to heart; in some areas it was poorly written, but in much of it there was sternness, and a need to know the truth. Gaius scoffed to himself, wondering if after all this time had passed, he still knew that by heart. He set his face with determination, fingers wrapping tighter around his quill as he finally made his decision to record his truth of the Great War; the contents of the letter would hold more truth than he had uttered about it since the Purge, and he settled to writing it. The physician was older and as his pen moved slowly across the page, still with some uncertainty, he hoped that this might absolve him from his… he was never an accomplice, but from his inability to do more than he did. 

He wrote slowly, partly due to the weaknesses of old age, partly because of the issue of his own memory, but the important pieces of information came out as clearly as he could hope, and eventually he drew the letter to a close. Before he could give it a final read over and sign his name to permanently give himself to this truth, there was a firm knock on the door, and he spun his head around quickly. “One moment,” he called with some urgency, before turning back to his reply. The pen fell from his hand as quickly as he stood, the pain of old age shooting in his back was ignored as he grabbed both letters. He almost fell back into his seat, but a second knock against the old door quickened his breath as well as his movements, and he focused on hiding the documents. He took his glasses off before looking around the room, eyes eventually settling on just one of the stack of books cluttering his quarters. “Ah,” he mouthed, almost smiling, and he shuffled over to them to hide the papers between two of the books in the pile; placing them carefully in between, he stuck a corner of the papers out as an afterthought, aware he just might lose them himself. 

He continued to fiddle with the edges, wondering if the spot was enough to conceal them, before a third, more impatient, bang at the door had his attention moving. Shuffling to the door a little breathlessly, he finally opened it to his guest. His baggy eyes went wide when he realised it had been the king waiting, the man’s eyebrows raised as he tapped a finger against his hand as if ticking away the time. Arthur wore a stare of impatience, but Gaius had the advantage of age, having aided King Uther in many things, including bringing up his little prince; the new king might look at him like that, but they both knew that was as far as it could ever go, and Gaius hoped at least it would remain that way. Having never had any children of his own, thoughts of that long gone in a time of fear, Arthur was the closest thing to one; he hoped the boy in king’s clothing still saw him as a friend, if nothing else. 

Gaius returned the stare with his own, raising his eyebrow in the way he knew made even the most difficult of patients stay quiet, the wrinkles on his forehead only emphasising the effect. “Sire, I was not expecting you so early.” He frowned, “or at all, actually.”

“Forgive me,” Arthur nodded, his impatience fading as Gaius dropped his own eyebrow in triumph, “but I wished to speak with you, it cannot wait.” 

Gaius frowned, searching the boy still itchy playing king, before waving a hand into the room, “come in, then.” His eyes followed the king as he wandered in, watching Arthur look over the mess of his workshop. “What can I do for you?” he asked, closing the door with a creak and a click as Arthur tried to find a seat, settling for leaning against one of the tables. 

Arthur brushed a hand through his hair, staring at the ground as Gaius waited for him to find the words; he looked troubled, but the physician was beginning to see a head that the crown might just begin to fit. Finally, the boy looked up with an ominous sort of stare, “it’s about Magic’s Defender.” 

Gaius frowned, but offered the same seriousness in his gravelly reply, “and you have come to me?” 

“I understand you used to practise magic yourself-”

“Those days are far in the past, Sire,” the old man interrupted, always quick to assure each king of his loyalty, even if his eyes did drift for a moment to the finished letter hiding between books. 

When his stare returned to his king, gone for only a second, Arthur was smiling at him earnestly for the first time since he had come down to the workshop. “I know,” he said firmly, but kindly, the boy with his heart on his sleeve that Gaius knew well. “I would not challenge your loyalty to me, and that is not why I have come.” Gaius nodded, but kept a keen eye on the king in wonder, since his father had said similar many times to many people, and the physician often saw them on the pyre only a few days later. “I only came to ask if you might know who it could be?” Arthur asked, drawing Gaius from the fire he lost himself in. “You’ve read a lot on magic.” The king looked around the room at all the books scattered around, although both were aware that such books only contained medical remedies, since those regarding magic had been burned. Of course, Gaius had hidden some for himself, but he was careful enough not to have them out in the open even if Arthur likely could not tell what they were. “Is there nothing that might help us?” 

His voice sounded so desperate, that Gaius ran a lip through his teeth, “I have heard rumours-” he tried, but Arthur cut him off.

“I haven’t come here for more rumours, Gaius.” Arthur sighed, “I hear rumours, too. Many of them are ludicrous, and the rest are even worse.” He stared at Gaius imploringly, “I have come to hear what _you_ think.” While there was desperation in his tone, the physician heard the authority the man employed, that new feature that reminded him of the old king, yet Arthur was still too kind to be an exact copy of the dead man. “Do you have any idea?” 

Gaius heard the pleading still, but without an answer he shook his head, “I am afraid, Sire, that there is nothing _I_ have read, at least, that could help you.” 

Arthur’s eyes widened, “you don’t know?” 

“I appreciate your faith in me, but no.” He watched Arthur’s face fall, “I’m sorry.” 

The king waved a dismissive hand, but his downturned face showed his disappointment too easily, and he shrunk a little further into the table. In the silence, Gaius found his gaze slipping once again to the hidden parchment, itching to sign the letter that stuck out, before he might change his mind. 

“Could it be Nimueh?” the now faint voice of his king pulled the old man back, Arthur’s fingertips playing at his lip. Gaius frowned, blood going cold at the mention of her name. When he said nothing in reply, Arthur looked up at him, “we never found her. Dead or alive.” His eyes appeared lost, “it could be Nimueh.” 

“While it is true she was never found, I cannot believe it is her.” Arthur’s eyes finally focused, eyebrows burrowing above them as he stared at the older man. Gaius crossed his arms, explaining, “it is a strongly held belief that the High Priestess Nimueh resides in a lake.” 

“A lake?” Arthur pulled a face, hardly hiding his doubt, something many young men did when Gaius said something they could not understand.

“You’ve heard the rumours of the Lady of the Lake?” Arthur paused before nodding slowly, and Gaius continued regardless, “I believe this to be her; it is either a self-inflicted banishment, or she has been punished for her use of dark magic.” 

Arthur took a moment to reply, digesting the strange information, “how can you be certain?” 

“Because, Sire, I believe that if Nimueh still walked among us, you would most certainly know about it.” 

The king’s eyes widened as he whispered, “she would still want me dead, after all this time?” he turned away from Gaius, biting his fingernail. 

“Your father executed many of her people.”

Arthur whipped his head around, fixing Gaius with a stern glare, “people who betrayed this kingdom,” he bit out. 

Gaius hummed as his eyebrow rose once again, replying instead, “Nimueh would look for revenge wherever she could get it.” 

* * *

“Annis has allied with you?” Mordred asked, eventually mirroring Morgana’s smile as she nodded. “But she’s aware of your terms? All of them?” his smile dropped a fraction as he emphasises his words with a meaningful stare, and is glad when she takes it as seriously. 

“She understands, Mordred.” Morgana placed a comforting grip on his shoulder as he sighed with relief. He let his shoulders drop as his eyes turned as bright as when he had first heard the good news. “Is that the only reason you came? You know it is dangerous for you to come here so often.” Again, she sounded like a mother, and the boy shifted, but basked in the care; in his Druid camp he had guardians, but he had lost his own parents long ago, and Morgana had shown a tenderness that his own guardian could not. Druid leaders had so many distractions that it was hard sometimes to find a moment of peace with them. 

“I had other messages to deliver.” He tried to assuage her fears, although the suspicious look she gave him suggested she was not fully convinced. Mordred rolled his eyes, but said no more, preparing to leave. 

“Wait,” Morgana stopped him and he frowned, “is there any more news?” 

“What do you mean?”

The lady shrugged a shoulder, but her smile faded away as her gaze dropped, “have you heard any more of…” she struggled to find the words, something Mordred was not used to with the lady Morgana, “the other alliances?” she finished as her gaze came back up to him, more serious than before. 

Mordred stared at her, his nose scrunched as she only waited for him to figure it out. It took a few seconds longer than it probably should have, but eventually he mouthed, “oh,” with a nod. He shifted again, this time more uncomfortably, “one has finally been made, I heard.” 

Morgana’s face fell further, “who?” 

The messenger grimaced, swallowing before reluctantly replying, “Cenred.” The lady gasped, and Mordred could not help losing the feeling of joy he had only moments ago. “I fear what will happen to our cause, should any more of her alliances come to fruition.” 

There was a second before he felt a tighter grip on his shoulder, and Morgana set her jaw, “do not worry, Mordred. I am sure only Cenred is reckless enough to ally with her.” Her expression was set, but still he was not fully convinced. 

“Do you believe what she told you?” he asked instead, “about Uther?” 

Morgana’s frown turned into a bitter stare, her lip coming up at the corner sardonically as she crossed her arms, “I have no doubt.”

“Really?”

“She might be desperate,” Morgana said, “but there is no reason to create lies about Uther’s digressions, when there are so many truths still to be told.” 

Mordred bit his lip, “what will you do?” 

* * *

Gwen leaned against the stone cold column by the entrance to Camelot, straining herself just enough so she might hear something said between the pair, but cautious to stay hidden away unnoticed. Of course, they had never seen her before, and just as every other time, they were both so wrapped into their whispers that they only noticed those who got closer to them. Morgana was better, Gwen having noticed on most occasions that the lady at least tried to keep her eyes on everything at once. The messenger - the boy - however, was energetic and nervous despite having done this a few times now; Guinevere continued to wonder that if they _were_ plotting, how on earth he had managed to keep it a secret for so long. 

The maid watched as her lady put a hand on the messenger’s shoulder, rubbing it in a way that was too much for an acquaintance, and again she felt her body pushing further against the stone even as it began to ache. She squinted, wondering if she might read what they were saying, but Morgana’s back was almost fully turned to her; the maid knew anyway that she had never actually been that good at reading lips, especially from such a distance. It was not something to dwell on at that moment, though, when she continued to watch them interact. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear as a cool breeze hit her face, pushing strands in front of her eyes to block her view, as if it was an accomplice to her lady. 

It was only a moment later, when she was almost able to convince herself she was able to hear what the pair were whispering - or maybe it was the nobles milling about inside the castle behind her - when someone stepped on the back of her foot; the pain was only an irritation if anything, but when a shoulder pushed into her, she huffed angrily, setting her jaw as her focus was taken. 

The maid turned gruffly, hands fisted as she ran quickly over her speech in her head; of course, nobody ever noticed the maids or servants in castles, but that was not the only thing that had irked her at that particular moment. “Do you mi-” her anger cut away quickly in a breath as her assailant, the knight, catching himself before facing her. 

“Guinevere,” his eyes widened, “my apologies,” he said in a hurry, bowing slightly. Gwen was still processing it before she could roll her eyes at his display, the golden curls atop the knight’s head bouncing back into place as he came back up. 

“Leon,” she smiled, her previous irritation being buried away for the moment. 

“I did not see you,” he continued his apology, and the maid’s smile grew fonder. He frowned, though, after a moment of consideration, “what were you doing?” 

The smile fell in an instant, and a strange cacophony of breath left her as she fumbled to find an excuse. He stared at her expectantly, and she opened her mouth ready to reel off the first thing that came to her when it actually did, but then suddenly found herself without words. 

“Gwen, is everything alright?” 

Guinevere stared at him, her mouth still open in the hope that the lie might fall out eventually, but an idea fell on her, and she wondered. 

* * *

Gwen paced the worn floor of her cramped kitchen, having brought the knight to the quiet area so that she could get out everything she had witnessed to someone she could trust. The knight might have been looking at her like she was mad, but she barely registered it as her feet turned this way and that after only a few steps, no room in her house big enough for her to pace in one direction for a long time. One hand rested on her hip as she drew to the end of her tale, the other at her lips so that she could bite her nails in between sentences. 

Finally she stopped, standing almost directly in front of Leon who sat at the table, watching her with worry clear in his expression. The maid sighed, rubbing a hand over her forehead before holding it there a second. Then she stared at Leon with her own concern, “I’ve seen Morgana talk to the messenger many times now.” 

“You have never heard exactly what either has said?” 

Gwen shook her head, and at Leon’s following expression her arms dropped with her shoulders and she groaned, “but I know I’ve heard them speak of alliances.” She stared at him seriously, trying to convey the truth in her words, “I am sure of it.” 

“Gwen,” Leon huffed after a moment, in a way that meant he was about to tell her she was surely mistaken. The maid rolled her eyes as soon as he did just that, his voice picking up when she began to pace once more. “I’m not saying you are wrong-” 

“You think so, though!” she stopped her nervous movements for the second time.

“All I want is for you to think about what you are saying.” His words were caring, and his expression softened, but again she knew she was being dismissed. 

“Leon,” she breathed desperately, “I know what it sounds like, and you know I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t believe it was serious.” The maid put her hands on her hips, trying to reinforce the confidence in herself since the knight clearly had none, “something is going on.” 

“You think there is something going on,” he suggested lightly, “perhaps it is more… innocent than you think.” Leon waved a hand in a gesture, Gwen only just catching the meaning of his words. The knight explained further anyway, “the king has told me she rejects any suitors he recommends.” 

“You saw how young the boy was,” she leaned her weight on one leg as she stared at him incredulously, “Morgana has no interest in that, anyway.” 

“What are you saying, Gwen?” 

“Leon-”

The knight interrupted her, pushing his chair out with his feet and the screech of it cut the maid off as he drew it out; Gwen could not help but grimace at the sound, effectively quietened as Leon shifted in his seat so his body sat sideways in the chair. “Guinevere,” he stared at her seriously for the first time since she had brought the knight to her home, “what are you saying?” He hummed, resting his elbows on his knees. “Do you believe that the lady Morgana is plotting against Arthur?” 

Gwen bit her lip, the fight leaving her as soon as Leon addressed her properly. “I can’t be sure,” she tried. “She’s my mistress, and she has always been kind to me.” Leon’s head rolled, an arm dropping from his knee, and the maid spoke desperately again, “but there is something, Leon.” She grabbed his attention once more and was determined not to lose it again. “The messenger,” she said, waving a finger, “I have seen him before, I’m sure of it.” 

“What do you mean? Where?” 

Gwen’s feet shifted, her brain catching up with her words; she began biting her nails as she wondered if it was wise to say more. 

“Gwen, you must tell me.” 

Her eyes caught his, and she dropped her gaze again as she mumbled, “I…” She shook her head, cleared her throat and spoke louder, “I am sure he is the messenger who has once brought word regarding Magic’s Defender.” 

Leon’s eyes widened immediately once she uttered the words, and the knight jumped out the chair, standing tall. Squaring his shoulders, he took a few steps closer to the maid, appearing less like the friend she knew with the fear clear in his stance, “Guinevere,” he tried just as desperately as Gwen had been before, “you must understand the seriousness of what you are implying!” 

She caved under his heavy stare, her shoulders drooping slightly as her eyes rolled away from him, “I know.” 

“You must be mistaken, so many messengers come and go,” he waved his hands aimlessly, “I would not be surprised if they all merged together.” 

Gwen sighed, “maybe you’re right,” she said, trying to sound persuaded. Leon had known her for a long time, and the sceptical expression he wore told her she could not fool him. 

“There is…” her eyes hovered over him carefully, “there is a way to be sure.” Leon stood above her, waiting with a narrow stare as concern drowned him. “When I watch her, I can never hear what she says, but perhaps _you_ could-”

“Gwen,” Leon ground out, “what are you asking of me?” 

“I don’t want to put you in this position!” 

“Then do not put me in it,” he begged, but he was still standing there. The knight rocked his head back over his shoulders. Brushing a hand through his curls he said, “I know we are friends.” His eyes met hers with a gentleness that made Gwen feel sick with guilt for mentioning anything, “our bond goes back a long time.” Suddenly her hand was in his, “you are like a sister to me, you know?” 

Gwen’s eyes dropped, “and you a brother to me,” she offered in return. 

When her gaze drifted back up, Leon’s met hers beseechingly, “do you realise what you are asking of me?” 

The maid’s eyes twinkled with desperation, and her grip in his hand tightened, “I know.”

“To watch Morgana, it would,” he shook his head, “it would be a terrible thing if you were wrong.” 

“I know,” she nodded, but spoke firmly, “but what if I’m right, and Morgana is a threat to our king?” Gwen held his stare with solid resolve, and when Leon did not move to get away from her grip, she gave him a tentative smile. 


	6. Would I Lie to You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double whammy time! Hope you enjoy, and if you do, let me know! :) 
> 
> \- this chapter contains things from previous chapters, but they've been altered so best not to skim!

“You always bring the best food,” Merlin mumbled, mouth filled with food Arthur had collected from the kitchens - or rather, Gwen had, but it had all been his idea. “No wonder your belt has so many holes in it.” His expression turned sly, and Arthur let out a surprised gasp as his eyes widened at the insult, any humour he found from it hidden behind his expression. 

“I’m fighting fit!” he grumbled back as he punched his companion lightly on the arm, aware that Merlin was just baiting him as he often did, mostly just for fun. The warlock always did say he was too defensive, but his frustration seemed to increase when he was around Merlin, as it did when Merlin’s raised eyebrow suggested he did not fully believe Arthur’s claim; Arthur shook his head though, rolling his eyes away from the fool. He allowed his lips to quirk up at the corners when he knew Merlin’s own gaze had drifted away from him and back to the food, enjoying the banter in their safe space. 

“And did you bring anything?” Arthur asked, distracted from their previous conversation when his eyes roamed over the selection of food that appeared to only come from him; it was often the case, and when he turned back to Merlin’s scrawny figure he guessed the warlock had little to bring along. He was relieved when Merlin grinned in response to what was a jest, and his companion held up a finger as he swallowed another gulp of food the king had brought. Honestly, Arthur thought, he never really got a good look at any of the food when, by the time he was ready to eat, Merlin had wolfed it down. 

“I can make you something,” Merlin replied, rubbing has hands together as he prepared, “what do you want? You can have anything.”

Arthur frowned at Merlin’s palpable expectant energy, and he looked over the food once more as he scratched at his chin with a hum. “I don’t know,” he shrugged; as Merlin knew how to annoy him, Arthur knew appearing disinterested in Merlin’s magic would get on the warlock’s nerves, and he grinned when he felt the warlock slump beside him. “Alright, how about strawberries?”

The king felt Merlin’s enthusiasm return as the warlock exclaimed, “strawberries it is!” Merlin smiled before whispering into his hands, “bl ó stma.” Arthur felt himself leaning over as he had done so many times before, each time less wary of magic than the last. Merlin opened his hands slowly as Arthur watched silently, - something Merlin had once joked about figuring out how to keep him quiet - and a red rose appeared to bloom in Merlin’s palms. 

Arthur narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms as he sat back, “that’s not a strawberry,” he spoke with disappointment. 

“How observant,” Merlin shrugged, “same colour, though. Plus, you’re always complaining I never get you flowers.” 

Arthur’s eyes looked up at the sky, “I was joking! Don’t be such a girl, Merlin.” Even as he said the words, though, he felt his hand connecting with Merlin’s and he realised he had reached out for the flower. His skin grazed Merlin’s gently for a second, but their eyes met and it felt longer when his heartbeat dragged along slowly. When the king looked into his partner’s eyes he saw so much, but oftentimes the truth reared its ugly head in the corner of his eye, and this time he cleared his throat as it began to cloud his mind; the moment felt long but too short at the same time, and Arthur regretted bringing them both back to the world even in their safe space. His fingers were still wrapped around the magical rose though, and he could not help but tuck it away safely in his outfit, even with Merlin’s gloating eyes following his movements. Arthur’s frustration at Merlin’s delight was overtaken by the butterflies he would never admit to feeling fluttering in his stomach. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shifting up against the grass, feeling it prickle against parts of bare skin, Arthur was thrown off guard when Merlin asked out of the blue, “would you ever leave Camelot?” the king’s brow wrinkled as his gaze focused again on the warlock, the butterflies taking a short break as his ears finally picked up the question that he always knew was on the tip of Merlin’s tongue; his partner had always appeared happy when they were together, but Arthur knew there was always a lingering sadness because he felt it too, and as he became more settled in his role as king the question of their future pressed even more into his mind. Still, hearing it aloud made him flinch. 

“What?” was all he could say, as he hated being taken aback, especially in front of Merlin who he knew would tease him about it as soon as they stopped talking so seriously. 

“To live somewhere else. To live a different life.” 

All Arthur could do was let out a gust of air, turning away from Merlin’s far-too-serious stare, a stare begging him to say _yes._ He could not lie, a part of him wanted to, even if just to stop Merlin looking so anxious with every second of silence that passed. Plus, with all the responsibility weighing him down, the dream of living far away from Camelot on a quiet farm without bother was something he had considered even before he met Merlin. Looking out at the dull sky ahead of them, the clouds surrounding their bubble, he almost laughed when he considered that this _was_ his other life. When he turned back to the warlock he wondered if it was ever a life he could commit to, tasting the truth on his lips, but the fears that came with it rushed over him in a wave, drowning out any other feelings he had about Merlin. 

“Sometimes,” he said, trying for nonchalance. The quick turn of his head away from Merlin was anything but calm, though, and undoubtedly gave him away, so he shrugged instead, “but my sister would kill me for sure.” He offered the excuse with a huff of laughter that sounded more nervous than humorous, and when he finally regained the courage to look back at the warlock he could see in the man’s beady eyes that he had not been fooled, only hurt and confused. 

With a sudden urge to dampen that hurt he saw as clear as day in Merlin’s eyes, Arthur reached out for his hand, “maybe, if things changed, you might come to Camelot.” He spoke hopefully, only until his brain caught up with the suggestion, and it took everything for him to not back down from his idiocy. 

Thankfully, Merlin appeared not to catch his anxiety, because the warlock’s eyes dropped down to where Arthur’s thumb was unconsciously rubbing against his skin, and he whispered, “about that…” Merlin began, gulping a thought before picking his head back up to look at Arthur with a different sort of seriousness, and the king felt his heart stop for a moment with a new anxiety gripping at it. “I remembered what you told me, last time. About the war.” Arthur felt as though his face has been permanently frowning, as it often does when he is with Merlin, especially since Merlin often talks absolute nonsense. 

“I spoke to the Druids about it,” Merlin carries on, voice firmer than before, “they said they’d heard a different story.” 

“Of course they would, _Mer_ lin. I can understand why they’d be against what I told you.”

“Shut up, Clotpole,” Merlin shook his head, dropping his hand away from Arthur’s grasp; the king stared at the space forlornly, before looking back at Merlin who had just a moment ago created a flower for him with a stupid grin plastered on his face. Now the warlock stared at him with such severity it reminded Arthur of how much power he could truly wield, even in his expression. “I listened to your version, can’t you just hear me out?”

Arthur swallowed, shifting for the second time with a different reason for his discomfort. Whatever Merlin was going to tell him would be wrong, Arthur knew that, but the warlock seemed so desperate to say it that he wondered if it would do much harm if he just listened? 

“Arthur?” Merlin asked, more tentatively than a second ago.

“I suppose so,” he harrumphed, “as long as you’re not expecting me to believe it.” 

Merlin huffed out what sounded like a relieved laugh as his frown changed into a smile; the warlock nodded, “I only ask that you listen.” 

Arthur waved his hand then, gesturing his partner to go ahead. 

Another nod, and Merlin began, “so it begins the same: magical life in Camelot did once flourish, with sorcerers and others with magic working in the castle alongside those without…”

* * *

_ The murmurs and bustle of the citadel drifted into the castle, the area surrounding it bursting with all kinds of life. Inside the castle was hardly different, with servants, knights, and noblemen and women sometimes hurrying, sometimes strolling, through the palace as they usually joined in idle chatter with someone about nothing in particular. If one were to glance out of the windows, the same view would not be spotted twice; those with magic often put on a show for those without, capturing attention quickly and easily, with different spells every time so their audience were never bored, sometimes for money, but also some for nothing. Inside the castle, the use of magic was more refined, but of course, displays were put on by travelling sorcerers. Still, those with magic within the castle worked to educate those without it.  _

“The king and queen, like you said, got on well those who directed them in terms of all things magical.” 

_ The royals were in the throne room, separated, both in conversation with different people. King Uther spoke jovially with a man not much different to him in age or in height, carried in swathes of blue robes with greying black hair almost long enough to reach his shoulders. He wore a closely trimmed beard, and his deep baritone voice matched his heavy appearance. His laughter, too, was deep and hearty, and he threw his shoulders back as Uther shared some joke with him, the king resting a hand on his shoulder. Both men appeared as domineering figures, neither needing to ask for command, but being granted it as soon as they entered the room. The man in blue had kind eyes, but a fierce presence; Uther had a crown on his shorter head of hair, but more importantly, a stern expression and piercing eyes that followed their victim without room for argument.  _

_ “Balinor,” Uther smiled seriously, his laughter fading as he took in his old friend, “you have been a great asset to this kingdom.” _

_ The man opposite smiled in kind, nodding his thanks, “we were friends before you took the throne.” _

_ The king sniffed, “of course.” A moment of silence passed between them, Balinor having grown so used to the king’s mannerisms that he knew there was something he had on his chest. “But, I have been thinking.” Balinor’s eyebrows quirked up, a crinkle just over the bridge of his nose faintly appearing as Uther continued, “the power you and your kind wield is magnificent, and I have heard even more from Gaius.” Uther’s voice was filled with awe, but Balinor was not so blind to the destination of the conversation, “there are those who believe that the mightiest weapon is a sword forged in a dragon’s breath.”  _

_ Balinor forced his expression into neutrality, refusing to confirm or deny the unasked question. Uther’s eyes lit up as Balinor had seen them do so when the king faced a challenge, but he was not prepared to go down as many of Uther’s foes had. “And there is so much more,” the king continued when his companion remained stoically silent. “Now, do you not believe, old friend,” he said with a sly smile that made Balinor itch with discomfort, the camaraderie shared earlier having dissipated into the dust of the throne room. “That were you were to allow me to harness such power, this kingdom might become even more powerful?” The king’s eyes widened even more with a fire of passion that had frightened Balinor before; he had grown with Uther as a friend, but he had always been aware of the desires of the man. “We could expand and defeat those who surround us with ease.”  _

_ Balinor’s expression remained the same, and he wondered, hoped even, that his unperturbed countenance reassured Uther of his true strength. Clearing his throat, he replied calmly, “My Lord, you must understand the complexities and dangers of magic.” A cloud formed over the king’s eyes already, and Balinor carefully continued, “you know those of us with magic are your humble servants, but what you suggest…” he shook his head with a heavy breath, hoping to convey the magnitude of Uther’s request before staring the king down with a level gaze, “it should not be done.”  _

_ “Why Balinor, do you not wish for the kingdom to succeed?”  _

_ A shadow fell over Balinor’s brow, “of course I do, but the risks are too great.” He planted his feet into the floor, hands folding together behind his back almost casually, but when he squared his shoulders in the silence he knew Uther understood.  _

_ The smile was slow forming and brazenly fake, teeth showing as more of a threat than in kind, “you are right,” Uther said in his diplomatic way that Balinor knew was only used on noblemen the king had no intention of listening to. A hand fell on Balinor’s shoulder as the king said, “you give excellent counsel.” Their eyes were focused on the other’s in a staring match, both conveying their determination before a horse made of smoke flew between them, only just breaking the tension. Balinor followed the creature as it made its way to the queen who watched it with purity Uther could never understand, until his eyes settled on the sorceress who had conjured it. “We must tread carefully here,” his voice travelled through to her mind when their eyes met.  _

“Balinor continued to be cautious of the king, and rumours began to spread around the court about the torture of those with magic, Uther hoping to gain the power he desired.”

_ The knights of Camelot were useful at few things, but when Uther tasked a select few to bring in those with magic who he knew could offer some information, they took to the task with more seriousness than ever; Balinor watched from the shadows as they dragged in another helpless soul to the torturer Aredian, a man Balinor had only met once but the ice he had felt grip his heart made him feel glad they had never had to be in each other’s company again. Aredian had only ever appeared to make jests about those who could wield a power he could not fathom, but both Balinor and Uther had seen a truth behind his words when the jokes were spat rather than shared. Even Queen Ygraine struggled sometimes to listen to the man’s strange humour, and she had shared a sympathetic look with Balinor when he was forced to listen to the jokes.  _

_ The situation had changed so quickly now that the jokes were no longer a bother to Balinor, when the jester appeared to finally have his dreams come true as he tortured those with magic in cells deep within the castle, lower than those holding petty criminals so that the truth would not come out, not until Uther might succeed in gaining their power.  _

_ Balinor did not flinch nor turn around when he felt a presence behind him, sharing such a close bond with Nimueh, his apprentice long ago now equalling him in her abilities. Her head hovered over his shoulder to catch a glimpse, although the torture was out of view and all that was left was the screaming. When the sound came to a sudden end, he heard Nimueh’s breath hitch beside him, felt his own heartbeat take a break before another part of it shattered as it did so almost every day now.  _

_ “What can we do?” his voice travelled to her mind, still a whisper despite the fact that nobody else could hear. _

_ Nimueh’s reply was filled with steely resolve as he knew it would be, the Court Sorceress a constant strength at his side, “we must help our kind.”  _

“When he couldn’t get the answers he wanted, through torture or any other means, Uther tried to ask Nimueh, a High Priestess with such power that she was a gatekeeper of life and death. Her knowledge was immense, but whilst she refused to yield to the king, Nimueh could not fight him alone, especially since few knew what he was doing to those with magic.” 

_ The sorceress ducked into an alcove when she saw the light of a flame hover around the corner, highlighting the shadow of a single knight, no doubt followed by another. Her hands planted against the stone wall as her body pressed against it, waiting a moment before risking a quick glance into the area she had just left. Slowly, a fraction of her head dipped out of the hiding spot, a single blue eye watching the flame as it bobbed, clutched in the hand of a guard. The corridor she had chosen was one that was deep within the castle; there were no lamps on the walls to guide the way through it as it was usually left vacant, but Nimueh could use her magic as a source of guidance, quickly able to cast it away should trouble find her.  _

_ She guessed she heard the footfall of two guards, listening with a hitch of breath as the sounds grew closer to her hiding spot. Nimueh pressed closer into the wall as if she might hide in it, but there was nothing more she could do as she quietened her breathing. Fortunately, despite Uther’s strict rule, his guards were complacent men, missing even the most obvious things. Nimueh’s breath returned to normal when they passed her unfazed, glad that she had no need for a spell to distract or harm them. Whilst it could be entertaining to watch their confused faces trying to figure out what they had just seen or heard, the sorceress had no intention of harming anyone unless it was out of necessity, and she was in a hurry to get to her old mentor. _

_ As soon as she was sure the corridor was clear, the light of flame fading against the turning wall to one end of the corridor, Nimueh slowly slunk out from the alcove with a hesitant step, hands dragging on the stone before falling completely. Still, she ensured both ends of the corridor were empty before she brought her hand up so that her palm lay flat, whispering into it, “leoht.” The quick spell produced a white light that beamed bright enough to guide her, but would not attract attention if she held it close enough to her. Nodding to herself, Nimueh picked up her pace, following the corridor out to an exit of the palace that was only ever used in times of emergency.  _

_ Her dark cloak trailed behind her, flicking up as she turned her quick walk into a run as soon as she spotted the door to her mentor’s home in the near distance. With a quiet tap against the wood, her mentor opened the door carefully before seeing a friend and allowing her in. Nimueh’s breath still came out heavy and short, so Balinor ushered her into a seat in his humble living room, a place usually filled with warmth and life now cold and brimming with fear. _

_ Settled with a hot drink between her hands, fingers wrapped around the cup to draw out the temperature to settle into her bones, the Court Sorceress stared at her old mentor with a determination she had always had but hoped never to have to use seriously.  _

_ “We must unite, Balinor.”  _

_ The old man leaned back in his chair, watching her with concern, “How?” he scratched at his beard, his soul heavy as he thought, “those far away from the citadel are still unaware of the situation, even some here only know of people going missing - nothing more.”  _

_ “Then we must tell them,” Nimueh leaned forward, ploughing on despite the caution in Balinor’s expression, “I will lead a group of the few who know the truth, and together we can make others aware, we can unite them.”  _

_ Balinor hummed, “nobody has given Uther want he wants-” _

_ “ _ -yet _,” Nimueh quickly bit out, causing Balinor to resume his humming._

_ “Will they believe you?” _

_ Nimueh rolled her head over her shoulders with a sigh, “they have to.” Setting her shoulders she said, “if we cannot fight back Balinor, if we cannot take advantage of our positions, then soon there will be nothing left. Soon,” she gulped, “we will have nothing to fight for.”  _

“Balinor was uncertain, but he trusted Nimueh and knew she was right, and he helped her lead a small group of rebels. Their first steps were to remove the dragons from the kingdom, knowing that if Uther could harness their power he would be unstoppable. Then, the others helped save many from the hands of Aredian and other torturers King Uther had employed in his service. But, one fateful night changed everything…”

_ Uther stood on the balcony above his people, all sharing murmurs and rumours of people who were in the dark. The king’s presence commanded their attention immediately, although there was something different in his stance, and while nobody commented on it, it was there for all to see: he stood tall, but there was vulnerability there, as his eyes roamed over the crowd, and in the silence there was only confirmation that something truly terrible had happened through the night. The people stood waiting for the news, as they had waited for the announcement of the birth of an heir only days ago.  _

_ The king’s hands turned to fists as he began his speech, “my wife, our beloved queen, is  _ dead.” _The gasps came all too quickly in harmony with each other, the people below staring around as if it might be some awful joke; Queen Ygraine had always been kind, and the people had always shared fond words of her even if they had seen her rarely._

_ “As she recovered from the birth of our son,” Uther carried on, determined to make his speech, “Queen Ygraine was  _ murdered _,” he spat before waiting once again for the gasps to subside. “There have been small risings, and I know there have been rumours of sorcerers and witches and all of magic-kind trying to usurp the throne and take this kingdom for themselves. I can tell you that the queen’s murder was an act of sorcery and an act of treason. But, most importantly, this was an act,” he paused, eyes hovering over each and every person in the crowd, “of_ war. _”_

* * *

“Uther couldn’t get what he wanted from those he imprisoned, so he believed his only move was to eliminate the threat of magic.”

Arthur was silent for a long time when Merlin finally brought his scandalous narrative to a close, seething underneath as he processed the villainous words spoken against his father who had only ever taken measures to protect the kingdom.

“That’s enough,” he said sternly, despite the tale having closed moments ago. “How can the Druids say such lies?” Arthur spat, “they have been left in peace for the most part!” The king tried desperately to control the rage in his words, but he couldn’t help shouting as he pushed himself up, knocking food over in the process. He knew he had to get himself under control, he knew there was some secret he had to protect, but he could feel his control slipping as he saw only blind rage.

Merlin, for his part, had appeared for a moment confused by the outburst, until the warlock too stood up quickly with his own anger, “they’re not lying, and how can you say there is _peace_? Their camps are raided even now!”

Arthur shook his head and then stared at his companion, too angry to admit Merlin had a point, but not stupid enough to deny it; instead, he stayed silent, huffing as he tried to regain his past calm.

“Arthur,” Merlin said softly, leaning towards him with begging eyes, “I just thought you should know-”

-“Know what?” the king interrupted, “that the Druids are spreading evil rumours against Camelot’s king? This doesn’t change _anything_ , Merlin.”

“What are you doing?” Merlin asked when Arthur fumbled, finding his feet before storming away.

“I’ve lost my appetite!”

Merlin was quick, though, and Arthur felt a hand wrap around his arm, stilting any movement; he refused to turn back and look at the warlock who asked him to wait. Taking a breath, he shook out of Merlin’s grasp, needing to get away from what he had thought was a safe space, “feel free to finish what’s left.” He mumbled, successfully shrugging out of Merlin’s relatively weak grip. As he walked away, he felt Merlin’s eyes follow him with what he imagined was despair, _good_ , he thought.

* * *

Leon crouched overhead in dirt and grass, his suspicions against Morgana only growing as the day went on. He watched as the lady surreptitiously entered the cave, looking this way and that to make sure she was not being followed; the knight ducked whenever she might have caught his face, but it seemed he had gone by unnoticed since their journey began.

When she had wandered further into the cave, the knight slid down the hill he had been perched above, carefully entering the darkness as Morgana had a few minutes before. It was difficult to catch anything in the darkness, and he kept his eyes mostly on the ground to make sure he made no sound coming over stray rocks. Eventually his eyes adjusted, and Morgana soon came back into view; it was a strange sight, and he frowned as he watched her lift the sword high in the air above her head. When the fire light lit up his eyes, he only felt ice grip his heart in terror, and for a moment he worried he was frozen to the spot. 


	7. His Lies

When Leon finally went to see Gwen that evening, it was with a heavy load on his shoulders and a disappointment in his step. The maid answered with her own nervousness clear in her wild eyes and hands clutched at her chest; even if he had not known her for so many years he would be able to see the panic. She had seen him return earlier that day, and when they had locked eyes he had not given her any sign of hope, and he wondered how he would describe what he had seen. It was seen as improper for him even to be in her home, a knight consorting with a maid, but Leon had known Gwen for so long, knew her intelligence, and there was nobody he would trust more with this information.

“Sit down,” she said when he had been standing for too long by the door, hand hovering over the doorknob as he still tried to make sense of what he had seen. Gwen’s own apprehension only heightened Leon’s, adding further tension to the room as he tried to get comfortable in his seat. Gwen sat across and lay her hands on the table in a move he knew was her way of reassurance, and he offered a small smile at her kindness, feeling a pang inside as he knew he was about to ruin her evening. 

Leon found it hard to order his words, but he could tell Gwen was near breaking point, readying herself to politely shake it out of him, and so he caved before she had the chance. He tilted his head so he could face her properly, their earlier conversation becoming clearer in his mind as if taunting him, and he huffed a bitter laugh at the thought. “I followed her, as you asked,” he began, rushing a hand through his busy hair. 

* * *

_ Leon watched as the sun hid behind another cloud, grateful for the respite of its dull heat as he stood at the wall in some armour. It had been mercifully cooler than the past few days, but it was still not yet truly cold, and Leon was beginning to question his love of summer - a ritual he undertook every year. His eyes caught the king with his servant, a man Arthur had confided in Leon was driving him mad, readying a horse with a picnic basket; Leon frowned, having seen a similar sight so often that he was beginning to wonder if the king knew many noticed his frequent solo rides. The knight briefly wondered why Gwen was not showing any concern for Arthur’s behaviour, but he supposed that Arthur was facing stress neither of them could even begin to comprehend, and he could hardly begrudge his friend the space, especially with the ever looming magic threat.  _

_ The knight watched with some boredom as the king and his horse raced out of the citadel, and his eyes would have remained at the gates a little longer had Gwen’s request not popped into his mind when he caught Morgana preparing her own horse. He frowned, a little irked that both Arthur and Morgana seemed to have complete disregard for their own safety, but her behaviour was still not incredibly suspicious to him: he knew the Lady Morgana was a keen rider, and had ridden often with Arthur and Uther. With Uther’s death still not long past, Leon considered that Morgana, like Arthur, might have just needed the space. While he knew Morgana and Uther had a more… tumultuous relationship, she was still considered something close to a daughter, and Uther was the only father figure Morgana had had for most of her life.  _

_ With a put upon sigh, he pushed away from the wall, vowing to stay true to his word to Gwen still and follow Morgana, even if it simply led him back to the castle with very little to tell - something he suspected was very likely to be the case. Gwen had appeared genuinely anxious, though, and Leon had known the maid long enough to trust her judgement; he was aware, too, of Gwen’s relationship with Morgana, the two much closer than Arthur and his own servant, and he knew she would not make an accusation lightly about her lady.  _

“I followed Morgana for much of the day, and for the most part, little happened. Then, however, I noticed her take a turn deeper into the woods, somewhere I certainly would not have expected her to go alone. Eventually, I noticed her meeting with someone else; it was only a brief meeting, but when she came back it was with a sword in hand. I followed her then even further into the woods, until she reached a cave.”

_ Leon crouched overhead in dirt and grass, his suspicions against Morgana only growing as the day went on. He watched as the lady surreptitiously entered the cave, looking this way and that to make sure she was not being followed; the knight ducked whenever she might have caught his face, but it seemed he had gone by unnoticed since their journey began. _

_ When she had wandered further into the cave, the knight slid down the hill he had been perched above, carefully entering the darkness as Morgana had a few minutes before. It was difficult to catch anything in the darkness, and he kept his eyes mostly on the ground to make sure he made no sound coming over stray rocks. Eventually his eyes adjusted, and Morgana soon came back into view; it was a strange sight, and he frowned as he watched her lift the sword high in the air above her head. When the fire light lit up his eyes, he only felt ice grip his heart in terror, and for a moment he worried he was frozen to the spot.  _

_ What he had been unable to see in the dark, when his eyes had only latched on to Morgana, was a creature he had never thought he would see in his lifetime. A creature he only knew from Gaius’ books and lessons, a creature that Uther had deemed vile and the greatest threat the kingdom faced.  _

_ He stumbled out from the cave when he finally connected his brain with his feet, still careful to make no noise, but eager to leave as quickly as he could. His hands trailed along the stone walls even as the light at the entrance guided much of the way, and he only felt safe letting go when he no longer felt the warmth of fire behind him.  _

* * *

“I was unsure what else to do, and so all I could do was wait for Morgana to leave and later follow her back to Camelot.” 

Gwen sat with fear in her eyes, a fear Leon still felt gripping his heart even though he knew he was far away now from the dragon. Neither could find their voice to say any more, the gravity of Leon’s tale hitting them both at the same time as it properly sunk in the knight’s mind. 

“A… A dragon?” the maid struggled.

Leon nodded, wishing it were not so, “I was sure the last dragon to be seen was described as blue, and even that creature was said to have been slain.” He swallowed, “but the one I saw it,” he shook his head, “it was young, it was pale. It appeared weak, but its flames were strong and burning.”

“There is a dragon?” Gwen repeated, and Leon had never seen her struggle with anything. 

“It has always been rumoured, nothing more, that there was a dragon egg buried in the Tomb of Ashkanar, but I had never believed it. I never wanted to, but _now_ -”

-“And Morgana was holding the sword, for the dragon to, to what?”

“I am not sure what happened exactly, but when Morgana returned from the cave she still held the sword, but it appeared _different_.” Gwen raised an eyebrow. “It was the same sword, but it was changed somehow, it was like it was glowing.” 

“Who was it for?”

“It was made for her, Guinevere, and for her alone.”

Gwen gasped, but set her face quickly, and Leon knew she was prepared for the worst, “what does this mean?”

With a heavy heart but his expression set to match Gwen’s courage to face the news, he said, “we are all quite sure it is Morgana aiding those with magic, perhaps your own suspicions about the lady are correct, too.” 

* * *

It was when Gaius was settling down with a book, reading glasses perched at the end of his nose to read after a long day, that the new king came barging into his chambers without thought, and a storm followed closely behind. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Your Majesty?” he asked as he put his book down, sure he would have no need of it any time soon as his eyes watched Arthur furiously pace around the room. Arthur only stopped for a moment to raise a brow at the sarcasm dripping from Gaius’ question, and had Gaius the patience he might have admired the look he had taught the young king from a young age through a great deal of practice. Instead, the physician decided to carry on when the king had the gall to stare at him so, “I appreciate that you are the king, Sire, but you are not the only one with work to do.” Of course, he had finished his work an hour or so ago, but Arthur was quite clueless when it came to medicine Gaius knew he would not be questioned, and he was rewarded with a slight slump in Arthur’s tight stance.

The king had the grace to look somewhat apologetic when he uttered an apology, but Gaius surmised it was more out of politeness than genuine guilt when Arthur continued, “but I must speak with you urgently.”

“Sire?” the old man took a stand at the seriousness in the boy’s tone, worried some new information had come to light about a threat considering the range of emotions passing across Arthur’s face. 

Arthur brushed a hand through his hair haphazardly, tapping his foot as he took a breath before letting out what he had to say, “I heard something. Something about the war.” The old man frowned at the topic, before his mind wandered to a letter he had written not long ago. It appeared his face must have shown some hint of the memory too, as Arthur’s eyes narrowed in on him and he pointed a finger at the old man, “I need to know, Gaius,” he sounded desperate, “is what I know about the Magic War true?”

Gaius’ own eyes widened in a way they had not in a while since it took a lot to surprise a man who had lived through so much, and he found himself without more than, “Sire?” 

“You know something,” the king must have picked up on another unconscious slip of expression on Gaius’ face as he stepped towards the physician, fingers tightening around the one pointing at him filled with accusation. When the old man said nothing, Arthur commanded, “tell me now, Gaius. That is an _order_.” The words come out harsh, and Gaius saw in front of him a king, rather than the boy he helped to take care of. The physician had so many thoughts all at once that at his age it might have done him well to sit down; he admired the king Arthur was becoming, the authority in his voice conveying deep emotion but also a restraint, assuring Gaius that he will be an excellent king. 

The other thoughts centred around what he had already considered: the letter. If Arthur had new information on the war, where else could he have heard of it? How would he have seen the contents of the letter, though, when Gaius had gone through pains to have it safely delivered to the Druid asking for the truth? “What have you heard, Arthur?” he asked carefully, hoping he might be wrong in what he believed Arthur might now know. Arthur waved a dismissive hand, however, and Gaius waited, “what is it you expect me to say?”

“I expect the _truth_ , you must tell me the truth!” Arthur demanded, the emotion breaking its way through, something Uther had always viewed as a weakness while Gaius had always known it to be Arthur’s greatest strength. Such anger aimed at him now, though, made his guilt bubble to the frontlines. His shoulders sagged with the weight, and since he believed Arthur must have heard something close to the truth to be so hurt, Gaius made a decision in the moment that he might later regret; staring at the boy in front of him, though, made him sure it was the right thing to do. 

“I fear, Sire, that you have already heard the truth.” Arthur gasped quietly, taking a step back. “But you will not accept it, not from me.” 

“What do you mean?” the authoritativeness disappeared in an instant, evaporating to leave a young boy whispering the question. “How can it be true?” he asked, but it was clear he spoke only to himself as he lowered himself onto a stool conveniently placed, and Gaius felt the sympathy piling on top of him as he watched a new weight fall on the young king’s shoulders. 

“Because it is,” Gaius responded anyway, placing a hand on the king’s shoulder in a fatherly gesture, “but I understand it is difficult for you to believe.”

Arthur stared at him with childish eyes, “it’s impossible.” 

Gaius nodded, “I have something for you.” Arthur stared at him with a faint frown, but the physician ignored it as he moved away and shuffled to a corner of his chambers where many things had gathered dust. His eyes found the object he needed, and when he removed the cloth protecting it, it appeared as it had when he had first acquired it so long ago. It was an object he had never found use for himself, but understanding the needs of his king, his almost ward, he nodded resolutely before picking it up carefully with both hands. 

Arthur stared at it with caution when Gaius handed the horn out towards him. “Gaius? What is it?” 

“It is the horn of Cathbhadh,” he replied, expecting the frown on Arthur’s brow to deepen. “With it, you can open the door to the spirit world for a time and invoke a spirit. Arthur,” his voice lowered, “you may invoke anyone you wish, and you can ask them any questions you might have if you so wish.”

The king stared at the horn for a long while, before looking up to Gaius again with some sort of delayed shock, “this is magic.” He said, but took the object from the physician and inspected it closely, twisting it around in his hands. “How can I use it if that’s so?” 

Gaius felt pained when he stared down at the seemingly hopeless king, but he spoke as wisely as he could, “because it will give you the answers you need, Arthur, and perhaps open your mind.”


	8. Look What You Made Me Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a chapter slightly shorter than the others, but imo no less great haha 
> 
> Thank you for the support so far, really glad people are enjoying this! If you have any Qs about it or just any comments then drop a message at the bottom, or just a kudos if you're not feeling chatty :)

Morgana waited for the sorceress to emerge from the hut she was forced to live in; the witch stared at the plants attempting to cover it with some sympathy, considering what it would be like to live in a hovel rather than a home. As her host appeared from the doorway, hair also covered with different parts of the forest, Morgana noticed her tight grip on the frame as she navigated her feet over the uneven ground. Once past the entrance, the ground became muddy but more even, and the sorceress finally let go of her grip from the doorway and smiled at Morgana as if she had never appeared weak; for her part, Morgana allowed her to believe the illusion and offered a simple smile in return. Despite her age, Morgana could still feel the woman’s power emanating from her, but it faded and flickered when the woman stumbled or ached, and there was no denying the hardships in her life had weakened her.

“Morgana,” the sorceress’ lips flicked up with some fire in them, but Morgana picked up a hint of genuine pleasantness in the tone that gave away her loneliness, something she probably had not meant to let slip. “How are you, dear?” she asked with her arms folded, voice sweet with underlying a superiority that she could hardly boast. “I hear you have been making alliances?”

Morgana nodded with a careful smile in response, unafraid but aware of the frustration lacing the words, “and I have heard the same of you.” She chose her words well, tilting her head up with the superiority her companion wished she still held. 

The sorceress’ eyebrows twitched playfully as the smile painting her face turned even more wicked, “and what is your plan, Little Miss Witch? Do you not think we would work well together, you and I, now you know the truth?” Her words matched the threat in her expression, but Morgana knew there was desperation there, too. 

Morgana looked down at the ground, kicking at some brown leaves beneath her casually, “yes, I appreciate you telling me about my true parentage.” She brought her head up to stare the sorceress in the eye, “but I must admit, I already knew.” Each word was like a weapon, and when her companion appeared surprised Morgana restrained her smile of victory. 

Never one to appear one step behind, though, the sorceress’ expression of surprise lasted less than a second before returning to that smile, if a little weaker than she had been able to hold it before. “And?” she shrugged a shoulder, aiming to appear just as casual as the Lady Morgana. 

Morgana’s brow fell over her eyes as her jaw set, and she said with determination, “I will not be your puppet, I will not carry out _your_ revenge, Nimueh!” and with the final word she revealed what was hidden, a sword she had received as a gift only days ago, a sword she had prepared to deal with anything. 

Nimueh might have been cautious, but her eyes twinkled with some strange delight as they inspected the weapon from hilt to tip; Morgana noticed her broken nails fiddling with each other, the only slight indication that the sorceress was concerned. “What a lovely toy!” she grinned, but when her eyes levelled back on Morgana they held contempt more than anything, “so, you will bow to him then, the Pendragon?” She spat with venom, the name quick to leave her tongue, and she appeared glad to see it gone. 

“I aid those with magic, and I will not stand by those who seek to destroy any chance of peace.” 

“Peace?” Nimueh laughed, the sound gravelly and bitter as she tipped her head. “Oh, Morgana,” her eyes settled on the witch with a patronising grin, “you are even more naive than I imagined, especially if you think you can slay me with _that_ ,” her head nodded towards the sword as she let out a giggle. 

Morgana was unfazed, though, and her set expression made sure Nimueh understood so as she raised an eyebrow. “I understand you are powerful still, even after all these years; I know, too, that you cannot be slain by a normal blade.” Her voice remained levelled as Nimueh’s expression showed only a slight trace of falling, “but this is no normal blade, Nimueh. This blade was forged in a dragon’s breath.” 

The sorceress visibly stifled a gasp, and again Morgana restrained a victorious smile as Nimueh schooled her expression into disinterest, appearing unimpressed with the display. “I underestimated you, Morgana,” she said with another shrug, “but I do not believe you could wield that weapon, even if it was, as you say, forged in a dragon’s breath.” Her voice mocked Morgana’s playfully, but it did nothing to the witch’s spirit. 

“I am here to give you a chance, the sword is simply a precaution; I ask you to be on the right side, to choose the right side.”

Nimueh scoffed, “the right side? The side of the Pendragon is _not_ the right side! There can be no peace while a Pendragon sits on the throne and spreads his ignorance and his fear, no matter what the prophecies say.” 

Morgana’s voice took on a sad note, “you are so blinded by rage that you forget, Arthur is only half Pendragon; the other half is de Bois.” 

The words finally garnered a reaction from Nimueh, whose feet stumbled under her as she faltered, a gasp escaping before she had the chance to reign it in. A dirty, tired hand reached up to cover her mouth as the air left her and tears began to brim in her eyes without permission. She tried to gather herself as true anger appeared to flow through her body, “he was raised by Uther, he is Uther’s son, he shares his hatred!” she spat, but Morgana was unsure who she was trying to reassure. 

“You’ve heard the prophecy, you know there is a chance, there is hope,” Morgana said lightly, her own belief clear; in her mind there were two Arthur Pendragons: his father and the once and future king. She had seen him as the first, but sometimes she saw the second, and both versions had a chance to destroy the other. Morgana worried, but she was determined to hope, especially now. 

“Hope is worthless to me!” Nimueh screamed, tears filling her eyes as she threw her hands to her side, the emotion raw in the words. She was weak, though, and her shoulders soon sagged with a lack of energy, allowing Morgana to finally see just how weary the sorceress was after years of hiding alone. “Hope is _nothing_ ,” she whispered. “I cannot, I _will not_ watch the New Order fail. I cannot smell their burning again, I cannot have my friends’ ashes in my lungs,” the words sounded as if they scratched against her throat as she no longer kept up the pretence of the evil sorceress, no longer denying what she was. 

Morgana waited a moment before speaking softly to the frail high priestess, “but you will allow the son of Queen Ygraine, your friend, suffer and die, without a chance to learn the truth or make amends?” 

* * *

A few days had passed and the horn of… whatever Gaius had told him was still sitting on his desk, hidden with cloths and at one point a bowl. George had appeared concerned, but fortunately his servant was not one to question the king. The tale Merlin had told him still weighed heavily on his mind as well; it could not be true, but why would the Druids spin such an evil story? And why would Gaius, a man who had raised him alongside his father, now suggest that there is something he does not know? 

In the privacy of his chambers Arthur groaned loudly, knocking some unknown object off his desk with frustration. He placed his head in his hands and tugged at strands of hair as if the dull pain would take his mind off everything troubling him. It did not. He had been king for a while now, and so far, nothing had given him such trouble as this. He wished to escape, to get out of Camelot and think it over, but he had tried that once before and that was really where the trouble began. _Consorting with a sorcerer,_ oh, how proud his father would be. Another groan worked its way out of the king’s throat, and he hoped it took thoughts of his father with it. 

He was well aware that some in the castle had become aware of his frustration, mainly because of two things: usually kind, now he was short tempered with any who came near him (he might feel sympathetic for George who had to deal with it much more than anyone else, but he felt strangely liberated when he finally confronted the man about his terrible jokes and his stupid haircut); he appeared much more dishevelled than usual, and this was something he would have been able to control had he not confronted George. 

Gaius never said anything, and only discussed what was on Arthur’s mind when the king brought it up, which was never. Morgana watched him in the corner of her eye, and even asked him outright, “what is the matter with you?” as if he were a child. As any adult would he rolled her eyes and mocked her before excusing himself; he knew she was still keeping an eye on him. Gwen and Leon, too, had picked up on his awful mood quickly, but said little on it. Perhaps they assumed it was because his father’s birthday neared, as most of the court must have surmised; he was grateful for their silence, whatever the reason. 

His mood did get worse on his father’s birthday, as he had been dreading but expected all the same. Gaius offered some remedy for his worries, but Arthur had refused, believing the day to be the day he had to decide. 

Staring down at the magical horn, going through the debate he had been trying to answer for the past few days - _it would be hypocritical; the story must be a lie; is my father disappointed that I might actually be considering a sorcerer’s word to be the truth?_ \- he resumed the position he had done every day when he sat hoping to make a decision. Today was the day, he commanded of himself, today was the day. 

It was late when he scribbled the letter to Merlin, the messenger waiting with tired eyes before the note was shoved into his hands with the demand to “deliver this _now_.”


	9. Truth Hurts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So glad to be past the 50 subscribers mark! Maybe not a lot for some, but I'm really happy and I want to thank you all so much - as well as those who have commented and left kudos and bookmarked the fic, it really means a lot and I will be sad when this ends!

Merlin wandered over to the lake where he had spotted Arthur, walking his horse over quietly, but with no intention to spook the man. Arthur appeared to be in a world of his own, checking and rechecking the buckles on his own horse that, on closer inspection, Merlin found were perfectly fine. He called out to Arthur with a greeting, forcing a casual tone, though he did not hide the frown falling over his face. 

“Arthur, what’s happened? What’s so urgent?” Merlin asked when his second greeting received only an ignorant hum in response; it did not sound angry, but it did not sound particularly pleasant either, and Merlin was curious if his partner was still holding the anger from their previous meeting. There had been nothing but silence between the pair since then, until only last night when the warlock received a note with scribbled words that were clearly written in a hurry, asking simply if he would meet Arthur. 

Arthur sighed, dropping his head as his hands finally stopped their fiddling, instead softly grasping the buckles. No other sound escaped him for a while, but eventually he brought his head up to acknowledge Merlin’s presence properly; there appeared to be no anger in his expression, but his eyebrows rested over his eyes in an expression of vulnerability Merlin had rarely seen on the man’s face. 

“I need to see my mother,” he finally said, and Merlin blinked, “I’m going to see her.”

Merlin could feel his face scrunch before he had even processed the words in his mind, nonplussed by the determination in Arthur’s voice. “Did you hit your head again?” he asked quickly, wanting to hit himself when he heard the harshness within his words. 

Arthur’s serious demeanour was set, though, and did not falter under Merlin’s inappropriate joke; when he turned away, the warlock worried his lip, but the man simply began rooting through the bag strapped to his horse. Merlin watched curiously, tilting his head to get a better view of what was being searched for, but he did not wait for too long when Arthur carefully pulled out an object wrapped in a dusty cloth. The warlock sniffed when Arthur brought it closer to him, both sets of eyes stuck on the reveal as the cloth was gently peeled away. The object appeared clean but old, and Merlin’s eyes squinted when he wondered how Arthur had procured it: he was so educated in magic to see the signs of objects that possessed some power, and he was sure the markings etched into the horn, almost faded completely, were of the Old Religion. 

“It’s magic,” Arthur said, cutting off Merlin’s attempts to decipher exactly what kind of magic it was. 

“Yes.” 

“The horn of Cathbhadh, have you ever heard of it?”

Merlin thought for a second before shaking his head, “I imagine it was one of the many magical artefacts stolen during the war.” Arthur stared at him with an exasperated expression when the warlock refused to conceal his contempt for the acts of thievery the war endorsed. 

“Yes, well,” Arthur cleared his throat, “I certainly didn’t steal it.” Merlin eyed him carefully, more playful than filled with true suspicion, but Arthur carried on regardless. “It is said that it can open the door to the spirit world.” 

Merlin inhaled a sharp breath, almost letting out a whistle as he admired the object once more, “I have only ever heard of such ceremonies, they were led only by high priestesses.” 

“I must speak with my mother.” 

Merlin folded his arms, “isn’t that a bit hypocritical?”

“It’s not as though I’m the king who banned magic,” Arthur argued back defensively with a shrug. 

Quiet fell over them as the patter of raindrops offered the only source of noise against the leaves above and the tiny splashes it created in the otherwise still lake; Merlin was curious to inspect the horn closer, but what he needed to know about it Arthur had told him. Arthur only looked more determined by the minute, ignoring Merlin’s more cautious mindset as he set his mind on the task he had finally revealed to the warlock. 

“This is powerful magic, Arthur,” the warlock spoke low. “Are you sure about this?” 

“I have to do this, it could be the only chance to ever see her.”

“I understand,” Merlin nodded. 

“And you’ll join me?” Arthur asked, again with a tentativeness intertwined with his earlier vulnerability that Merlin was still struggling to adjust to. 

“Where are you to go?”

“The stones of Nemeton.” 

“You’re sure you want to do this? You know what you’re doing?”

“Do you trust me?”

“With my life,” Merlin replied without hesitation, and Arthur offered his small but truest smile. “I’m always by your side.” 

* * *

The journey was quick, but the silence shrouding the pair as they travelled made it drag on, and relief was one of the many emotions Arthur felt drowning him when they began to walk the short distance towards the stones looming ahead. He could sense Merlin’s apprehension from behind, but paid it no attention as he walked with determination towards the rocks standing tall. There was no doubt when they came to a stop Merlin would reiterate the dangers of using such powerful magic, and whilst Arthur would not admit it, he was beginning to feel less sure as the stones grew taller, their power almost palpable even to someone without magic. 

The king was not sure when his legs had stopped, but his feet planted themselves in the ground as his hesitance grew, finally having reached their destination. The fields surrounding the stones were silent, a quiet breeze pushing the grass in the direction of the circle of rocks, something Arthur told himself was pure coincidence. 

Merlin finally reached his side, and while he had expected to hear the warlock’s worrying, he instead felt comforted as Merlin stood firmly beside him. It felt odd to be the hesitant one for once, but even without the ceremony having taken place the stillness of the area caused fear to worm its way around Arthur’s heart. Merlin’s arm rubbed against him, and he was reminded that he had let magic into his life once before, but Merlin’s magic was a warm sort of power; he had only ever seen the warlock’s true terrifying power a couple of times, the majority he had seen of it were those small tricks that tugged Arthur’s lips into a smile. 

A hand found its way onto his shoulder and he was brought back into the real world, “you know what to do?” Arthur nodded. “You won’t have long, and whatever you do, _don’t look back_. If you do, your mother’s spirit will be released from the spirit world, and she will never be able to find rest again.” 

Arthur gulped, hoping Merlin did not notice, the pressure mounting over him the longer he stared at the circle. His legs were turning more liquid by the second, and he took a breath, as if inhaling the confidence he needed, “right.” Pulling the horn from his belt and to his mouth, he stood tall, “see you on the other side.” 

* * *

Blinded for a moment by the bright light that trapped the circle, at first slowly fading in before it formed fully in a heartbeat - possibly Arthur’s own, which escaped him as he blinked when only white met his eyes. Just as he had adjusted to the beams and began to believe nothing more could catch him off guard, the figure appeared like the light did, from nothing. All he could see was that she came from the light to stand in front of him, several feet apart. He wished to close the distance but found his feet planted to whatever had replaced the yellowing grass, and so he did all he could to take in her appearance. It was difficult, as her pale skin and white draping dress merged with the background, but the features she shared with him stuck out as blue eyes stared back at him with crinkles surrounding them; she appeared so alive, so vibrant as if in her youth, so much so that Arthur had to remind himself where he was. 

“Arthur,” the lady whispered, in a voice he had heard only as a baby, but a voice that came rushing back to him the moment she spoke. A smile formed as tears laced her eyes, something Arthur would have found strange had his own eyes not distracted him as they started filling similarly with their own tears. 

“Mother,” he managed to choke in reply, “not a day goes by that I don’t think of you.” 

“And I you.” She nodded, the crinkles around her eyes pushing even closer together. Arthur admired her strong smile as he tried hard to focus on a single emotion, his breath leaving him in sharp gasps. “It is good to see you, so tall and…” her words failed her as she let out a fond sigh, lifting her hands to her lips as her eyes roamed over the son she could not raise. 

The sadness coating his words overshadowed her happiness, “there are times when I feel so alone,” he swallowed, “I want more than anything to have you by my side.” 

Her hands fell with her smile as Ygraine watched her son struggle, “you must never feel alone, Arthur. You have good, loyal friends, and a kind heart; I have seen that you are becoming the king that I always knew you could be.” 

“How?” 

“I see everything, I am always watching over you. Not a moment goes by that I wish you could know that, and now you do.” Arthur watched in awe, swallowing more tears as the words washed over him, granting his fears some respite as he finally experienced a mother’s love. “I also know, son, why it is you are here.” 

“I’m here because I wanted to see you, because I didn’t want to forget you.”

“I know,” she nodded, “but I know that there is something else. I _understand_ why you had to come now, Arthur.” 

“I just need the truth,” he begged, wondering if it was the spirit world that was weighing him down or his concerns. 

Ygraine nodded in a no-nonsense sort of way, making Arthur feel a laugh almost rise from him as he imagined the queen she had been; Uther had never divulged much about her, but he had heard from many that Ygraine had been a kind and intelligent queen. “We have little time, but I will tell you the truth.” The ghost took a heavy breath before fixing Arthur with a levelled stare, “Arthur, what you have heard recently about your father’s desire for power is true.” Before all of the words have left her lips Arthur ducked, anticipating each one but no less feeling the brunt of their meaning, wondering not for the first time how he had any air left in him for it to have been knocked out of him so often. “There is more to the story, though, do you wish to hear it?” 

Arthur gulped, fixing his stance as her compassion reached him, and again he wished to approach her, for her to hold him, but when he tested his feet they still would not move. Instead, he simply replied, “I must.”

“Very well, but it will be hard for you to hear.” Arthur nodded with more power than before, determined just to get somewhere with answers, rather than more questions. “When your father began to kidnap and torture those with magic for their knowledge, rebels rose up. Nimueh, as you know, led the group. I became aware of this myself, but it took your father some time to find out who it was because I fed Nimueh the information. I was part of their rebellion.” 

* * *

_Nimueh’s dark cloak trailed behind her, flicking up as she turned her quick walk into a run as soon as she spotted the door to her mentor’s home in the near distance. With a quiet tap against the wood, her mentor opened the door carefully before seeing a friend and allowing her in. Nimueh’s breath still came out heavy and short, so Balinor ushered her into a seat in his humble living room, a place usually filled with warmth and life now cold and brimming with fear._

_Settled with a hot drink between her hands, fingers wrapped around the cup to draw out the temperature to settle into her bones, the Court Sorceress stared at her old mentor with a determination she had always had but hoped never to have to use seriously._

_“We must unite, Balinor.”_

_The old man leaned back in his chair, watching her with concern, “How?” he scratched at his beard, his soul heavy as he thought, “those far away from the citadel are still unaware of the situation, even some here only know of people going missing - nothing more.”_

_“Then we must tell them,” Nimueh leaned forward, ploughing on despite the caution in Balinor’s expression, “I will lead a group of the few who know the truth, and together we can make others aware, we can unite them.”_

_Balinor hummed, “nobody has given Uther want he wants-”_

_“-yet,” Nimueh quickly bit out, causing Balinor to resume his humming._

_“Will they believe you?”_

_Nimueh rolled her head over her shoulders with a sigh, “they have to.” Setting her shoulders she said, “if we cannot fight back Balinor, if we cannot take advantage of our positions, then soon there will be nothing left. Soon,” she gulped, “we will have nothing to fight for.”_

“Nimueh was the leader, but she was not evil. She was compassionate and kind, and she did what she could to aid those of her kind trapped in the dungeons. One evening, I caught her sneaking into my chambers, and she told me the truth.” 

_Nimueh had become so practised in sneaking around the castle that it was almost second nature to her; she hid before the guards could even signal their arrival, blended in with staff, and one night, she easily found her way into the chambers of the king and queen. The door opened silently, but when the sorceress tiptoed into the room, she was caught short by a figure sitting at the desk poring over some documents scattered all over it._

_The queen must have sensed her presence, because before Nimueh might have recovered from her surprise and left as silently as she had entered, Ygraine locked eyes with her and frowned, “Nimueh? What are you doing here?”_

_The sorceress shuffled further into the room, frustrated that she could not read Ygraine’s expression enough to know if she was perfecting the casual entrance. “I came to see you,” she replied steadily, her brain supplying different parts of different excuses at an irritatingly slow pace. “Are you busy?” The sorceress nodded down to the papers._

_“No, not at all,” the queen smiled as she dropped one of the sheets, giving Nimueh her full attention - not exactly part of the rushed plan. “Uther has simply been driving me mad, so I thought I would come and read something dull to drown out his rants.” Ygraine laughed, and Nimueh forced a chuckle as she walked over, hoping the new conservation was trailing away from her strange entrance._

_“Your Highness?”_

_“Of course, he will not tell me why he is angry, no, because that is none of my concern, I am only the queen.” Ygraine shook her head, but when Nimueh had silently sat herself across the table the queen’s expression turned; the sorceress watched as her smile turned clever, one she had grown used to when Ygraine would explain to Nimueh exactly how she was always one step ahead of her husband. “But I am sure it is to do with your secret group of rebels aiding those secretly locked in our dungeons.” The queen’s eyes twinkled in the flickering candlelight, and Nimueh’s eyes widened; she briefly debated lying to her friend, but the all-knowing-smile had reached its peak, meaning Ygraine was well aware of what Nimueh had been doing, and lying would therefore be futile._

_“You know.” Nimueh leaned back, offering the queen her own smile of admiration._

_“Of course.”_

_“Does Uther?” she raised an eyebrow._

_“That man is more callous than he is clever, and his useless knights certainly do not offer much.” Nimueh laughed genuinely this time. “I have not said anything myself, either.” Ygraine’s smile remained, but her eyes lost their delight._

_“I did not accuse you of such.”_

_“You are my closest friend, my only true friend here, Nimueh. There is nobody I trust more than you.” Nimueh nodded slightly. “Do you trust me?”_

_“With my life,” Nimueh responded in a heartbeat, but heard what went unasked. “This was delicate, though; it is not only my life at stake.”_

_“I know.”_

_“It is not just my people I worry for, but you, too.” Ygraine frowned. “If you knew, I might not have been able to protect you - I still might not.”_

_“That is what worried you?” Ygraine asked faintly. “_ My _safety? When you are so precarious with your own?”_

_“I am leading this cause; I made the decision. If I told you, I would have robbed you of the choice. You are my closest friend, too, Your Majesty.”_

_Ygraine shook her head fondly at the title, “I think we are a little past that now, surely.” Nimueh smiled. “Anyway, now that we are both aware of the situation, I would like to make myself useful.”_

_“Ygraine?”_

_“Uther is arrogant, unjust, and he does not listen to a word I say - he does not yet know I am aware of Aredian’s torturous_ _games in our dungeons as he interrogates sorcerer after sorcerer,” the queen spat. “I can therefore pass you information, make it easier for you to help these people as much as I can.”_

_Nimueh took a moment to take in what had been said before shaking her head vehemently, “no, no! It is far too dangerous; it is already bad enough that you know!”_

_“Nimueh, be reasonable! Without me, what more can you accomplish? Uther may not be so smart now, but eventually he will take new precautions, and I can guarantee they will be worse than the ones he claims as_ lenient. _”_

_“We will just have to work around them.”_

_“How? What can you do when you are already struggling?” Ygraine takes a moment’s pause before asking, “what would you have done if it had been Uther sitting here this evening? Because I can reassure you that he would not have hesitated to see you burn on the pyre - and I know you know that!”_

_Nimueh could not find the words with her queen staring at her so intently, waiting to hear what she believed she inevitably would. The sorceress, unfortunately, bowed to her beliefs with nothing to rebuke her with, “it is risky.”_

_“It is a risk I am willing to make, as you have. Eventually the people will find out the truth, and you will need me on your side to help them see Uther for who he really is.”_

_Nimueh grimaced, settling on an answer she already regretted._

“Unfortunately, Uther did begin to put the pieces together, and he became aware of the messages I sent to Balinor and Nimueh.” 

_The birth had been difficult and long, and all Ygraine wanted to do was rest, but she could not take her eyes off the small bundle in her arms staring back up at her with her own eyes. Her fingers traced the skin on his face, remembering the touch as her other scents worked hard to create a vivid image of her new son in her mind. Uther leaned over her, his presence overbearing as usual, but even he could not make her angry when her son shuffled in her hold to get comfortable._

_“He is beautiful,” she whispered, more to herself than to the husband she was surprised could produce such a remarkable child._

_“Yes,” Uther replied, closer to her ear than she had expected. “You have finally borne me a splendid heir; you have served at least one purpose.”_

“At first, I did not understand the meaning behind his words, but when I realised my letters had been intercepted, I knew it was too late. Uther waited only a few days after your birth, when I was still weak and unable to fight; Nimueh had tried to protect me, but there was only so much she could do: eventually he had me cornered.” 

_Uther padded over to where the small bundle slept soundly, and had he not lost his love for the woman he no longer saw as his wife, his thoughts may have wandered to how the boy with only wisps of hair resembled his mother. His eyes flicked over to the main bed which he shared with the traitor, who was draped in blankets after a difficult birth, worn out and sleeping as soundly as their new son. Had he felt anything but hatred towards his wife, he might have teared up at the scene of his new family, but his focus remained on the son he would raise alone. Leaning over the cot, he rubbed his finger gently over the boy’s face, so deeply asleep that he barely flinched from the touch. Before Uther could do any more, however, a stern voice from behind caught his attention._

_“You cannot leave him without a mother.” The tone was fierce, but Uther had faced the wrath of his wife often enough to be unperturbed by the demand. It only caused him to stop his finger creating swirling patterns on Arthur’s face as a hint of amusement entered his expression. A snide, cutting smile tugged his lips._

_“Ygraine, my dear,” he sighed, “you really should be resting.”_

_Ygraine was weak, her knees shaking beneath her as they carried a weight they had not held in days, her whole body shivering without the strength it required. When Uther turned to greet her, he almost admired her attempts to stand tall, but the white knuckles gripping the banister of the bed betrayed her strength._

_“Why are you so cruel? What is it you wish to gain from complete control? The people will not yield to a tyrant!”_

_“You are gullible and weak, and you will not speak to me in this way!”_

_“I am the_ queen. _I will speak to you as I wish.”_

 _Uther laughed, “A queen who has been used by those with magic; they have lied to you, Ygraine dear. They have lied to make this kingdom weaker, to make_ us _weak.”_

_“You are the only liar I see,” Ygraine tilted her chin high._

_“You will show me some respect,” Uther warned._

_“Respect is earned.”_

_Uther laughed, “and who has earned it, might I ask? Your magical friends?_ Nimueh? _” the king’s voice lowered, “Nimueh is a traitor to the throne.”_

_“You will leave her alone,” Ygraine gritted out. “She has committed no crime.”_

_“She has committed plenty: she has laughed at our kingdom and she has blinded you.”_

_“You cannot prove that without anyone questioning her claims of your crimes against sorcerers.”_

_Uther grinned maliciously, “oh, Ygraine, the birth must be wreaking havoc on your ability to think. You are usually always one step ahead, as you say.” Ygraine squinted, her hands twisting around the banister betraying her anxiety. “Nimueh will pay for a crime much worse than any she has committed.”_

_Ygraine’s eyes widened, “what will you do?”_

_Uther walked over slowly as the queen tried to back away, finding only a corner with no escape; the king bared his teeth like a predator finally singling out its prey, ready to pounce and enjoy the meal. “Your death will be mourned,” he said when he stopped so their faces were almost touching, “but it will mark the beginning of many, many more, my love.”_

_Before Ygraine could speak, could think to push away, his rough hands were wrapped around her throat in one swift movement. The queen’s shock was overtaken by fear as her breath began to leave her lungs in sharp gasps, while she could take nothing in; her own hands weakly clasped at Uther’s, nails trying to claw them off her neck, but without success._

_The queen’s gasps of air grew shorter and the panic began to dwindle, replaced with laborious efforts to just get_ something _inside her lungs. Uther remained eerily calm as the lights around Ygraine’s eyes became fuzzy and blurred, the room dimming before the world around her fell into darkness._

* * *

“I know this is a lot, son, but please, it is the truth you seek,” Ygraine finished, her tears falling from the memory while Arthur stood speechless, mouth agape but with nothing escaping his lips. A fog appeared as he breathed rather shallowly, but he was too lost in the past to notice the cold falling over them. “Magic is not inherently evil, as you have been led to believe.”

“Father… he-he killed you?” Arthur struggled, his words escaping so softly that he wondered if his mother had even heard them. 

“He has killed so many, I was simply a casualty of the war he started.”

“I am so sorry, If I had known-”

-“but you did not,” she immediately stopped his guilt taking a hold, “and I hold nothing against you, Arthur. Uther raised you with the lie against magic, he is the one who blinded you; you could not know, and I have not told you the truth for you to bear the guilt your father should carry alone.” 

“And is he?” 

“I do not know; our paths have not crossed. I can assure you, if they ever do, he will pay for what he has done to the kingdom, for what he has put you through.” 

“It really was all a lie, everything,” Arthur whispered to himself with a sniff. 

“Uther has weighed you down with these lies, Arthur, but you must know how proud I am of you still; you searched for the truth even though it has brought you to this, and I believe you will be an even greater king because of it.” Ygraine’s face falls back onto a motherly smile, a feature Arthur is not yet used to, and he is unsure he will ever get used to the memory. 

“I wish I had known earlier.”

“You know _now;_ there is no evil in sorcery, only in the hearts of men.” 

“I know,” Arthur ran a hand through his hair and stared at his mother’s own, the thrill of seeing her, of acquainting himself with their similarities, attempting to overpower the weight of depression and guilt flowing through his soul.

“I have little time left, Arthur,” Ygraine spoke with urgency, “but I have one thing left you must know.”

Arthur blinked, shocked that there could be more information to carry with the rest of the baggage, “what more can there be?” he asked desperately. 

Ygraine’s smile slanted sympathetically, “I wish it were not so, I wish we had more time for something more pleasant, but you must listen.” 

Arthur swallowed a breath shakily before nodding, “I am.”

“There is someone with the power to take your kingdom, someone you have grown with. If you are careful, just, and approach things with the knowledge you leave with today, you will rule over a united kingdom where magic will be free, as it once was; if you close your mind, Magic’s Defender will have no choice but to protect their people and conquer your kingdom. Heed my words, son, I love you.” Her voice faded as her body flickered, and he knew he had to leave. 

Arthur stood dumbstruck, but managed to whisper, “I love you, too,” before he turned away, finally able to move his stubborn feet. In the moment he was grateful that his mind was still ploughing along enough to remind him not to turn back, however hard he wished to do so; his mother’s smile imprinted itself in his mind’s eye, but the words she had spoken did their best to block the memory. 

When he was clear of the stone circle, of the bright light of the gateway, Arthur became disoriented with the grass and the sky, the breeze hitting his skin so suddenly after there had been nothing but light surrounding him. His knees, already wobbling as he took hit after hit of news and warnings, finally gave in and he only became aware of falling when he was hitting the ground. Hands grabbed him around his shoulders, his name was being called, and he wondered if his mother had followed him through; Arthur closed his eyes, allowing himself to surrender to whoever seemed to be worrying over him.

* * *

Finally coming to, Arthur blinked himself awake, feeling something soft beneath his head. His eyes automatically flew to it, and his eyebrows fluttered down to shadow them when, at first, he could not place it. It took a moment for his brain to catch up, and when he realised whose jacket he had been using as a pillow, he sat up, perhaps too quickly; his vision went dizzy and his mind began to fog once more, but before it could cloud completely a figure came into view, holding his shoulder with one hand and a waterskin in the other.

“Drink,” the man said, his tone suggesting he had given the instruction more than once. Arthur hummed, but took the waterskin, only just aware that Merlin kept his hand on it, too. It was just as well, as the king felt his whole body shaking. “It will wear off soon,” Merlin said, either reading his thoughts or Arthur had simply said them aloud, and in this state, the latter was incredibly possible. “It’s just the shock: it’s bad for those with magic who have not practised the ritual, I can’t imagine what it must be like for you, since you held on for quite a while.” Arthur sat drinking silently, unable to fully comprehend what on earth Merlin was talking about, although that was hardly exclusive to this particular moment. “When you can, you should eat something. Are you feeling hungry?” Merlin asked, getting closer to his face with each question. 

“Starving,” Arthur sighed with more effort than was needed, but he was too tired to wonder why. 

“I’ll make you something,” Merlin said after a moment, “just try and stay awake?” Arthur felt hazy and his eyelids were heavy, but the sound of Merlin’s voice – an emotion he knew but could not quite figure out - made him nod as he made the promise. “You’ll feel better soon, just stay awake.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It was afternoon when Arthur was only just beginning to become aware even a little, stretching his body against the grass in the secluded spot Merlin had found for them. “I don’t usually do this, but I don’t think you’re in any particular state to be facing bandits or whatever comes our way,” the warlock muttered as he was waving his arms around their camp in a circle. He had explained it to Arthur before, but that was when the man was barely aware of his name, let alone spells. 

“Hm, good idea,” he said, only to get used to speaking again. Merlin’s raised eyebrow when he turned around suggested he knew Arthur was still recovering. 

“Will you be alright here for the moment? I could take you home, back to Camelot. I’m sure I can keep my magic hidden for a while.” 

Arthur blinked, pulling his head to look at Merlin properly as he ran the idea through his mind which was screaming at him; there was something wrong, the idea was a bad one, but why was it a bad one? “No,” he said, his voice more confused than decisive, “no. Too dangerous.”

“Maybe.”

“They know, they know I’m safe.” 

“Who?”

“The physician knows. And George. I told George I would be safe.”

“George?” 

“Don’t talk to me about George,” Arthur huffed, “he makes jokes about _brass_. He’s certainly as dull as brass.” 

He heard Merlin chuckle under his breath, and he smiled, unsure why the warlock had laughed but glad to hear something other than panic. “Alright, Arthur, just focus on getting better. You can return to Camelot then.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The sun began to set, leaving the sky a beautiful purple hue, their secluded spot offering them the privacy Arthur needed to recuperate. Now fully awake, the memories of his mother’s words returned all at once and Merlin had worried the king was beginning to fall ill again, but Arthur had tried to assure him it was nothing he could rectify. Unfortunately, this only made Merlin more concerned, and although the warlock stopped asking if he was alright, Arthur caught his furtive glances at him from the corner of his eye. 

“Merlin,” Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Have you even eaten?” 

The warlock shrugged, “a little.” 

Arthur’s head rocked back on his shoulders, “then why don’t you worry more about yourself than me, there is nothing you can do.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Merlin tried, but on receiving no response, he tried once more. “What happened at the stones?” 

Arthur rolled his eyes in dismay, sighing, because Merlin was nothing if not persistent, and Arthur was nothing if not easily swayed by him. He rattled through everything in his brain, all the information he had processed in the last few days, in his whole life, and wondered how he could tell Merlin without revealing his own lie. “It was… odd, seeing my mother.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. It must have been hard to walk away.” 

“Devastatingly.” Arthur fiddled with his fingers, focusing his eyes on the ground as he lounged on the grass opposite from Merlin, separated by the fire warming his bones after they had chilled in the gateway. 

“It must have been nice to see her though.” 

“Of course,” a faint smile echoed on his face, and his mother’s came into view, “it helped me remember her. I was only young when she died.”

“Sometimes I forget my father,” Merlin offered, “but I know his nature from others’ memories; my mother told me all about him.”

“My father never spoke of my mother.” Arthur muttered, “now I understand why.”

“What do you mean?” Merlin asked, making Arthur wonder how quietly he had spoken, questioning if he was still recovering from his ordeal. 

“Nothing,” he shook his head. Merlin was never one to be stopped when it came to soothing the king, however, and soon Arthur felt Merlin’s jacket brush against his arm, the man huffing as he put himself down beside Arthur gently. Arthur turned to get a side glance of him, and Merlin hugged his knees as he focused his full stare at him. “I slept on that, didn’t I?” Arthur frowned, pointing at the jacket. 

“You did,” Merlin nodded, “but we’re not talking about that.”

“Can’t we?” he tried for his best charming smile, but Merlin’s own morphed into exasperation, before his eyebrows rounded into something softer. 

“If you don’t want to say any more, it’s fine. I’ll be here anyway.” Merlin said kindly with a tender kiss to Arthur’s forehead, and the king felt the emotion tug at his heart. Arthur turned to look at him better now, staring at him for what felt like ages, but was probably only a few seconds, eyes searching for something, not sure what, though. 

“Thank you, Merlin.”

“Maybe we should get some sleep?” 

“Merlin...” Arthur felt conflicted, felt his stomach knotting as he wanted to tell Merlin _something_ , whether that be the truth from his mother, or his own truth. Merlin stared at him patiently with a concern that had come from his previous state, and Arthur wondered when he would stop acting like he was something fragile. “Merlin, the truth is, I knew my mother was alive during the war, because she was a casualty of it.”

“What?” 

“When you told me about what the Druids said, I had to know the truth. I was sure you were wrong; I was sure it was a vicious rumour. I didn’t want to believe my mother had died on the wrong side.” 

“Arthur?” Merlin asked when the man paused for a moment. “What did you find?”

“Everything you said, it was true. It was all true.” Merlin thankfully remained silent. “But I found out something else, too.”

“What was it?”

“My mother died on the side of magic. She aided the rebels.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the truth is out! Arthur's just not having a good time right now, please pass on your thoughts for him in the comments below (or your thoughts for me on how you love this fic?) :)
> 
> I am sorry Apex_Calibre that this isn't Arthur shouting at Uther - I do love that though, and in my fic I Can See the Fire In Your Eyes I touch on that because that is definitely what we needed in the show. Still, for this fic, I hope this suffices! I just think Ygraine deserves so much more of Arthur's time than Uther
> 
> Fun fact: Arthur getting ill when he left the stones was actually not part of my original plan, but apparently my brain wanted some ill Arthur so y'all got some, enjoy!


	10. Hallelujah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The first section (in italics) is a flashback for Nimueh because why not?

_Nimueh’s hands glossed over the letters she had kept from her queen, few in number as she had watched the others burn until they were nothing more than a pile of ashes; it was a cruel, but inevitable, twist of fate that cast their author on the same heap. As Nimueh’s face had once illuminated her otherwise darkened room, she stared at the simmering flames with what she believed at the time was numbness. The truth was, she had never been as numb as when her fingers trailed over the parchment, flicking with some letters and looping with others, all scribbled in haste. Ygraine’s voice called to her from within the note and she shifted, empty eyes scanning the room until she understood she was simply going mad._

_As the fingers followed the words joined so precisely that there seemed to be no end, there was a knock at the door she would have disregarded with silence, had the visitor not barged in. She paid them no mind, even when she was sure her name cut into her spiralling thoughts. Eventually the sorceress was found, though, sitting by the few memories she had collected in a small corner of her bedroom, thinking she had hidden herself well; they would all be found in the end._

_“Nimueh,” he called again, voice rough. With a final twitch of her finger she peered up at the intruder, like a child about to be scorned; his appearance was as rough as his tone, his body almost vibrating. The knots in his tangled hair mimicked the larger one sitting in Nimueh’s stomach, so that if she might forget her sorrowfulness for a moment, it could offer the reminder._

_“Balinor?” she whispered, surprised at the weakness in her throat._

_The man had barely caught his breath as he stressed, “Nimueh, you must leave,_ now. _”_

_Her forthcoming frown was soft, fingers still playing against the letters she held firmly in her grip; lack of sleep from the endless battles she had faced confusing her over and over again, and she wondered if Balinor was truly standing in front of her._

_“Nimueh!” he shouted, kneeling down, either so she no longer felt inferior or simply to get her to listen. When his hands grasped her shoulders firmly and he gave her a gentle shake, she could only surmise it was the latter. The haze drifted away with Balinor’s stronger presence, and her eyes focused on older ones._

_“I have to leave?” she blinked, “wha-why?”_

_“The queen is dead.”_

_Nimueh’s eyes closed softly and she ducked her head away, allowing at least a few tears their freedom. “I know,” she whispered._

_“You’ve been accused of her murder.”_

_The sorceress’ eyes opened instantaneously, barely having rested before they turned wild as she searched Balinor’s face, “what?”_

_“Uther is sending the knights out as we speak.”_

_“But, I… I didn’t-”_

_“-I know,” Balinor reassured her with a gentle voice, and her notice returned to the hands rubbing her shoulders, “I know what she meant to you.”_

_“But the king?”_

_“He must know of your part in our rebellion, he will do anything to get to you - you must leave.”_

_“W-where can I go? What could I do?” she asked, her voice rising in a desperation she was not used to._

_“There’s a place close by, Ealdor. It is a small village in the lands of Essetir; I know some people who will set us up.”_

_“You’ll come?”_

_Balinor nodded, “I would not leave you, and it is no longer safe for me here either - the king is to declare war on those with magic.”_

_Nimueh gasped, feeling her nails dig into Balinor’s arms before she could even register having dropped the letters, “we cannot leave, then. Surely we must stay!”_

_“Nimueh, you’re in no state to help anyone,” his head shook pityingly as he easily ignored her grappling hands, “there is nothing we can do! The dragons were sent away long ago, and many were already old; our kind is too scattered, we cannot help.”_

_“Please,” Nimueh choked, “Their deaths cannot be in vain. Ygraine’s death cannot be in vain.”_

_“If you stay here, you will die, Nimueh,” Balinor was gruff, but sincere. “Then it will all have been in vain!”_

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

_So, they ran. Balinor settled more quickly than Nimueh, who would smile and chat for display, but hide away in her room when she did not have the strength to fix on her mask. The old man wished he could tell her he felt the same sorrow, the same sadness, but if he were to admit it, he might not be able to come back. Fortunately, he had made a new life for himself, with a kind woman who had given the pair rooms and food when they had first arrived. He tried hard to ingratiate Nimueh into their new settlement, but she had always been stubborn._

_He knocked on her door hesitantly, knowing where she would be when the sun was setting and all that was left to do was rest easy; Nimueh would sleep for a few hours, but he heard her padding around in the middle of the night. He was often tempted to follow, but knew she would catch him, and if he lost her trust, Nimueh would be completely lost._

_When silence greeted him, he slowly opened the door, grateful when she did not immediately turn him away. Smiling at the small victory, he shuffled over to the bed, one more uncomfortable than either had been used to at the palace. His eyes narrowed as he considered it, wondering if it would take both of their weight, but decided it would be worth the risk. He groaned as he bent down slowly, his knees nothing like they used to be, before reaching out for Nimueh’s hand set on her knee. There was no reaction from the shell of a woman, a powerful sorceress, sat staring at nothing; Balinor looked around, finding the box of memories she had quickly collected before they escaped sitting shut just beside her by the pillow._

_“There was news of more burnings today, all day.” She spoke without emotion, “I smell the smoke from here.” Balinor responded simply with a squeeze of her hand, no words of comfort forthcoming. “What sort of war is this, when one side has all of the power, and the other is forced to hide?”_

_Balinor let out a long breath, “I know it is bad now. I know.” He turned to face her properly, although she continued to look away, breaking his heart the more lost she appeared. “There is hope though, you have heard the prophecy?” he paused, but when no reply was offered, he explained, “there will come a day when a defender of magic will rise, to unite the lands and those with and without magic.”_

_Nimueh’s reaction was stunted, her eyes closing before she let out her own breath which somehow sounded as morose as she looked. She removed her hand from Balinor’s grasp, returning it to its original resting place. “I think I am getting a little too old for prophecies.”_

_Balinor sighed, his whole expression downturned as heavy eyes fell to his empty hand, curling inwards. “You must have hope, especially now.” The corner of his lip curled up, “my child cannot come into a world without hope.”_

_It took a moment, but Balinor noticed the sadness in her expression turn to confusion as she finally turned to face him. “A child?” she asked in a voice he had not heard in what felt like years. His only response was to widen his grin ridiculously. “Balinor, you are having a child?” Nimueh did not smile, but her tone was finally turning away from the depression that had been holding it for so long._

_“I am,” he said, trying to remain calm but failing miserably._

_“It is what you have wanted for so long,” she said with wonder, before a smile finally worked its way on her face; Balinor had known her long enough to know what was breaking through was genuine, and he wondered how the muscles in her face must ache with the effort. “Congratulations!” she teared, taking him into an embrace. Balinor held back tightly, clinging to the embrace should it not be offered again._

_When they eventually left the embrace, his smile had softened his features, their earlier discussion not forgotten, but at least hidden away for the moment. “You will finally have a child.” Nimueh shook her head in disbelief, but her eyes settled on the old man with crinkles around them, “you will be a wonderful father.”_

_“You believe so?”_

_“You already are.”_

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

_Nimueh could not take her eyes off the child as he grew, still so young but already so smart. Hunith was grateful for the help too and cooked as Nimueh played some silly game with the boy. The sorceress barely noticed when Balinor entered the home, not realising how early it was for him to have returned, but was able to catch his words as they rushed from him in a single breath. Her ears stayed focused as she continued to occupy the child, listening to him repeating himself when Hunith asked._

_“They’re coming, they are almost here,” he shouted the second time._

_“Who?” Hunith asked._

_“Knights of Camelot,” Balinor replied while Nimueh mimed the words at the same moment. “Uther has sent his men; he must have been told we were here!”_

_“Who could have told him?” Hunith shouted, “nobody here bears any ill against you, you have not harmed anyone!”_

_“Uther has his ways of getting the information he wants,” Balinor growled as Nimueh closed her eyes. “We must go,” he decided quickly, “we’ll go, and we will go somewhere hidden.” Nimueh could hear him moving about the home, gathering supplies already to leave._

_“Balinor! Stay, we- we can protect you,” Hunith tried, “we won’t let them take you.”_

_“There is nothing you can do, Hunith!” Silence descended and Nimueh opened her eyes, shocked by the cry; Balinor was desperate, he was as scared and frantic as she still felt, and it was finally out there for all to see. “I’m sorry,” Balinor breathed, “I’m sorry.” He sounded raw, and when Nimueh finally turned around she watched as he pulled Hunith close, his fingers tight around her. When he pulled away, his eyes were only on Hunith, “if you don’t let us go, he will take you_ all _. He will take you, and he will take our son.” Nimueh heard a cry from the woman, “I will not put you at risk.”_

_“But I love you.”_

_Balinor huffed a sad laugh, “and I love you.” His eyes move along to his son, “and I love him.” Stepping away from Hunith, he said, “and that is why we must go, so you can live your lives in peace.”_

_“Please!”_

_“Hunith,” Nimueh rose from her chair and stared at the woman with a calm that came with her acceptance, “he is right, you must listen to him.”_

_“How?”_

_“You are strong, and I have been grateful for your help while we have settled here, but we cannot intrude on your lives anymore. I have lost many in this war, as has Balinor, and we will not add your name, or your son’s, to that list.”_

_“We could help…”_

_Nimueh stroked her arm, “you have helped us enough, let us return the favour.”_

_Hunith considered, “where will you go?” she looked at the pair._

_Nimueh turned to Balinor, who replied, “we cannot go to another village, they will only find us again. We will have to go somewhere secluded, somewhere difficult to find.”_

_“And what if I can’t find you? Once this is over?”_

_“When this is over, I will find you.”_

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

_Again, they ran, and Nimueh’s legs ached as she kept her eyes ahead, searching for the end. Branches stuck out, low and high, and she jumped and ducked as much as she could; sometimes she fell, but Balinor’s voice reached her mind as he told her to_ get up _, to keep going. The knights had surprised them, there was too little time to coordinate and all they could do was run, separated in the vast forest. Soon the clamour of armour drifted, their shouts and their weapons tucked away into a pocket of the woodland, and Nimueh took the chance to catch her breath. She looked around, the same view in every line of sight; it was difficult to catch air when the question pushed into her brain: where was Balinor?_

_Before she knew it, her legs were moving again, her brain screaming at her, telling her this was the wrong way. There was a man behind, though, lost along the way; she mercilessly cut down those irritanting branches blocking her path, finally exercising her dusty powers as she shouted the name of her mentor._

_When she saw the knights surrounding something, distracted from her presence, she knew what it was they were so occupied with. The men that could not catch a deer if their life depended on it had finally caught their first prize, but Nimueh would not watch them take him away. Her magic was aching, the muscles needing to stretch, but she had no time for warmups; with a quick scream and a golden light, a circle of wind pushed from her, catching the knights’ attention only before it threw them far away. Nimueh faltered, catching herself against a tree, drained easily from the amount of energy she had poured into the spell. Her eyes focused on the lump in the grass, though, and she refused to rest as she pushed herself back._

_She wrapped her arms around him, turning him over with an effort not to aggravate the arrow sticking from his chest. Her mind whirled, wondering if he had tried to face them, or there had been archers ahead of him hidden in the trees, but a splutter of cough caught her attention as she pulled him closer to her._

_“Balinor?” her voice was wet as she swallowed tears. She set herself to task immediately, eyes scanning his body, hands searching the area around the wound, but pulling back when he groaned in pain. The groan was weak, too weak. “They won’t take you,” she whispered frantically, “they won’t. I can fix this - you don’t have to die. I’m a gatekeeper, I can help.”_

_“Nimueh,” he said, patting her hand with a tap just as weak as his words. “Nimueh, please.”_

_“Don’t.”_

_“Nimueh-”_

_“- I said_ don’t _!” she screamed, and silence draped over the forest; the birds mourned the man not yet gone, as the trees remained still despite the breeze._

_“Nimueh.”_

_“I_ know _what you’re going to say, Balinor, and just- just don’t.” She sat back on her knees, hands finally falling from him as her eyes dropped to allow her tears to fall to the floor. “Please.”_

_“You know you can’t do anything.”_

_“What’s the point of me, what is the point of having such power if… if all I ever do is stand by and watch people die?”_

_“Your power can be used for other good,” Balinor said, before his back arched in pain. Nimueh’s eyes flew up to him and she once again wrapped her arms around him, but simply held him close. “Please, I- I don’t want you to be alone, Nimueh, you must find people. Keep them close.”_

_“Then let me save you.”_

_“Nimueh, I have abandoned my wife and my son… I was already dying.”_

_“But… you said there is hope, you said we must hope!”_

_“I do,” coughs interrupted his speech, “I hope that you live, I hope that you do not corrupt yourself by saving my life. Your power is a gift, do not abuse it.”_

_“Even in death, do you have to teach me?” she asked sadly._

_Balinor’s laughs turned to coughs, “I know you already knew it; I trust you.” The man turned closer into her, his face contorting with agony, “just… make sure you are on the right side, when you need to be.”_

_“I promise,” she whispered, her breath against his paling face._

_Nimueh watched as the light drifted from the wise eyes, and she clutched at his body as her sobs turned into deafening screams._

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

_Nimueh wished to find someone, as Balinor wanted her to, but she found it so hard to trust. Soon she found a cave, hidden away as he had suggested, a place dark and dismal, dripping with water. She spoke to herself, hearing it echo from the depths of her home, but there was no other reply._

_When she caught sleep, she dreamt of old friends, of the prophecy. Even that had turned into a nightmare. Her eyes were heavy when she finally rested, knowing it would be only for a couple of hours. The dream morphed into each segment right on cue, but one night something changed; she did not wake, her eyes refusing to budge, as something new caught the mind’s attention. Events were unfolding, those with magic were less fractured than before, the people were coming together. “_ Join the New Order, _” someone whispered, the words echoing._ “You will no longer be alone.” 

* * *

Arthur sat at his desk in a pose his back was growing used to, causing him to briefly wonder about how his posture might be coming out of all this. Would people still respect a hunchback king? Widening his eyes before his eyebrows fell over them, he pulled his head back. Glancing around the empty room, he was glad nobody was here to see his descent into madness. Still, perhaps it was just the aftereffects of the gateway; Merlin said there would be some issues, and, as if to reinforce that fact, his insides contorted nauseatingly, but he had gone through the worst.

The king yawned deeply before rubbing at his face with both hands, exhausted from the late journey home and weighed down with truths. His mind was still making attempts to order each and every thought he was having - even the hunchback one - when there was an unwelcome knock at the door. He grumbled in a very unkinglike manner, “go away,” but his servant must have not heard, otherwise he would not have then entered. George’s morning brightness dimmed considerably when Arthur fixed him with a greater scowl than he had ever wielded, but true to his professionalism, he remained standing. Just.

“I apologise, Sire.” He said sheepishly, trying to regain his pomp, “but Sir Leon has requested a meeting.”

Arthur waved his hand before George had finished his sentence, “I’m sure whatever it is, it can wait.” He replied with a croaky voice, and he felt George’s eyes turn the slightest bit inquisitive. George would never ask, though. Arthur was not sure if he liked that about him, or if he would prefer a servant with more gall. 

It appeared in the moment that George did appear to contain _something;_ nothing close to gall, but a need to fulfil what had been asked of him. Arthur frowned with light amusement, watching the servant blink, “Sire,” he cleared his throat, “I have been informed it is a matter of great importance; Sir Leon is waiting outside the door as we speak.” 

Arthur sat back, almost admiring the servant; he also knew the longer he kept his silence, the more fearful George became. Morgana had told him more than once not to torture his servants, but she had never had to deal with one so irritatingly supercilious. Still, he caved eventually, when there were just enough beads of sweat forming at the top of his forehead by the beginning of his ridiculous haircut. “Very well, send him in.” 

George bowed quickly, leaving in a hurry. Arthur smirked at the empty space left, but as Leon entered, he remembered he should fix his posture: he certainly would not respect _himself_ were he to become a hunchback.

The knight came in looking curious, his usually meticulous appearance altered only slightly, but Arthur noticed even the one curl out of place. “What is it, Leon?” he asked as Leon scratched the chair opposite Arthur against the floor without permission, checking behind him before taking the seat. 

“It is regarding the Lady Morgana.”

Arthur rolled his head back, _not this again_. “Leon, if this is about another _damn_ sorcerer-”

“-No! Well, yes, it _is_ about a sorcerer.”

“Then surely it can wait, I have more pressing-”

“Please, Sire, you must let me speak.” Leon stopped him immediately with a hand in the air. Arthur’s eyebrows rose; it was one thing for George to question him, but Leon? Crossing his arms, he waited, eyebrows still hanging in the air, as Leon collected himself. “You understand I come here as your friend and servant, and should you find any falsity in my words, then you may then dismiss me, but first you must hear what I have to say.” 

Regarding Leon a moment, the king wondered what was going around his castle today that his subjects were all so dismissive of him and his title, but decided ultimately to hear the knight out; if nothing else, it would distract him from his own issues. With a nod, he consented to hear the tale. 

“Thank you.” Leon sat back with more comfort. “Now, what I am about to tell you is perplexing, and had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would not believe it myself.” 

“Leon,” Arthur’s eyes rolled easily, “will you just tell me what it is?”

The knight nodded, but swallowed before continuing, “yes.” With a breath, he revealed his tale of dragons and swords, and at the centre of it all: Morgana. 

Arthur’s expression was a puzzling mixture when Leon came up for breath, “is that all?” he hoped so. 

“I am afraid not, Sire,” Leon shook his head, “both myself and Guinevere followed her once more. Just to be sure.” 

“Yes, I can see why you would need to gather evidence for this very heavy accusation,” Arthur leaned forward, fixing Leon with a hard stare as his words dripped with warning. 

Leon shuffled in his seat and Arthur was finally enjoying himself for once, “quite.” The knight laughed with shifting eyes. “Well, we followed her again, as I said. This time it was possibly worse than the first-”

“- How can it be worse than a dragon?” 

“Nimueh! Morgana was consulting with Nimueh, the sorceress.” He burst, and Arthur’s enjoyment instantly fizzled away. 

“Nimueh?” he echoed, sitting back slowly. “She’s still alive?” His eyes drifted, “how?” 

“I do not know, but she has been meeting with Morgana.” 

Focusing back, Arthur frowned, “what happened?” 

Pushing himself up in the seat, Leon leaned towards the king, “that surprised me also, Sire: Morgana was convincing Nimueh to _support_ you.” 

“What?” Arthur asked with a blink. 

“Morgana asked her to join the New Order, to support peace and unity, with _you_.” 

“The New Order? What’s that?” he gasped, “Magic’s Defender. They must be linked!” 

Leon nodded, “Guinevere and I thought similar.” 

“And Nimueh… she was previously not a part of this Order? Could she still be Magic’s Defender?” he scratched his chin. 

“I do not believe so,” Leon interjected his musings, “she appeared old and weak, desperate; it was Morgana that held the power during their meeting.” 

Arthur hummed, “yes. I think we both know, too, she has been aiding those with magic.” Leaning across the desk once more, he asked, “do you know if she possesses magic herself?” 

“Sire,” he sighed, “yes, I believe so. Nimueh called her a witch.”

“You never saw her perform a spell?”

“No, but how else could she know of the dragon, of the sword, of _Nimueh_? Even if she were not magic herself, she cares deeply for those who are!” 

Arthur considered the words, too many possibilities hitting him all at once, but one stuck out bright in his mind and he wished it were not so. Leon waited for his reply silently, but Arthur could hear him breathing, fast, trying to get some air back as he had spilled the most dangerous of accusations against Uther’s ward. 

“Leon,” he finally found something firm to settle on his voice, “it is only you and Guinevere who know anything?” 

“Of course.”

“Then I ask that you keep it that way for now; I will gather more information and speak with Morgana myself before the word is out. Can you do that?” 

“Of course, My Lord.” Leon nods his reassurance, standing quickly with readiness, “I will keep quiet.” 

* * *

The king was worn out completely, but when, later that day, Morgana made her way out of the citadel, he knew he had to follow. He had left too many loose strings; he could not hang another. Finally, George’s efficiency came in more useful than it really ever had, and his horse was ready in an instant. The animal flew from the gates, following the tracks Morgana had left behind until he caught her in the distance, slowing his ride to a gentle trot. 

He stopped when she did, a few yards behind the lady who jumped off in the middle of the forest; Arthur would have questioned it, but at this point he knew it would all become clear eventually. When a boy emerged from the trees to stand by her in an empty part of the woodland, he thanked the gods for their quick answer, before continuing his search for an advantageous hiding spot. 

“How is Nimueh?” Morgana asked the boy; despite having heard the name already, he still froze when it was spoken. The tale his mother had told him was fresh in his mind, but the one his father had woven still gripped his heart with fear. 

“She is weak,” the boy said, in a voice that sounded so familiar it made Arthur’s heart sink. “She needs rest, but she appears to be in higher spirits; I think their reunion has much to thank for that.” 

“Yes,” there was a smile in her tone, “I am glad they have met once again. I know he will have been just as happy.” 

The boy nodded, “as soon as she was well rested, they asked to see the other.” 

Arthur frowned, trying to peer closer without rustling the bush too much. 

“Do you hear that?” The king ducked as soon as the boy searched the area, praying again to the gods to grant him one more favour. 

“I am sure it is nothing,” he thought he heard Morgana reply. “I must go now, Mordred.” 

“To Cenred?” 

Arthur wanted to give up then. 

* * *

He tailed the lady, his something-of-a-sister, to Cenred’s kingdom at the same distance as before, hoping this would not be a long visit. The short conversation between Morgana and the messenger drew him closer to confirming his suspicions, but as with everything he had stumbled upon these trying days, it had not come without its questions. Plus, sitting in bushes was unkinglike and also incredibly uncomfortable; whatever happened today, he swore he would rest easy later. 

Arthur watched eagerly as Cenred finally graced Morgana with his presence, sauntering from his castle like a man on a mission. The king in the bushes cringed as, even from so far away, he witnessed the wicked man’s attempts at seducing his poor sister. Morgana may or may not be his rival, but nobody deserved such treatment, he decided. He managed a smile when he watched Morgana pull away, her own disgusted expression clear in his mind if not from his position. 

‘Pleasantries’ were exchanged: Cenred waved his dark locks around as he batted his eyelids Morgana’s way, whilst the lady crossed her arms to watch the embarrassing ritual take place. Most of the people across the lands knew that it was easier to humour Cenred at the beginning, since that made it even more enjoyable to crush him. 

“Your ally is going back on her word, Cenred. She wishes to break the alliance.” The lady speaks with a different sort of glee than before, more wicked than pure. 

“Hm? I don’t think so.”

“Oh?” Arthur ignored his discomfort as he was entranced in the display; watching Morgana turn her aggression on another man for once was certainly entertaining, especially when that man dressed head to toe in black leather. “You are a man filled with greed, Cenred, and the New Order will never ally with you; I defend peace, _not war_.” 

Arthur fell back into the bush, ignoring the prickling of twigs and stabbing leaves on his skin. Morgana had broken an alliance with a potentially very powerful kingdom, one which, with the aid of magic, could destroy his kingdom. Cenred could not, though, because the deal was cut with a sword forged from a dragon’s breath, by a woman who defended magic. _Someone you have grown with,_ his mother’s words echoed in his mind as he closed his eyes, drowning out the few words exchanged because he knew what the outcome would be: Morgana had always been just as strong as he, and she was terribly stubborn. 

* * *

Merlin hummed to himself, standing just outside of the camp to get some air. Aglain had frowned, refusing to believe the air outside was any fresher than that in. “That’s not what I meant,” the warlock sighed. “I’m only stepping out, no more.” His guardian watched him carefully. “I promise.” 

His hands rested with each other behind his back, his neck stretched out for the breeze to catch the pale skin, head dipping to his back to soothe the aches. Between his time helping Arthur perform a tricky ritual that had left his partner in a terrible state, and attending to the new arrival, he had had little chance for peace. Of course, listening to the tales recounted to him with breaks only for food and rest, the desire for quiet only came when his joints protested for him to decide if he was going to sit all day or he was going to walk. 

“You might as well come out,” he said clearly, big ears catching the sound of a trespasser. Closed eyes remained that way, too tired to greet the intruder with a proper welcome. 

A man-made silence met him, and he sighed, bringing his head back to its rightful spot. “Come on,” he moaned. 

Rustling, and then, “how did you know?” 

Merlin sighed, “because you’re always so loud.” His eyes rolled towards the irritation, “out here and in _here,_ ” he stressed, poking a finger at his head. Possibly too hard, though he refused to let the brief pain show. 

“You’re never happy to see me,” the boy grumbled, coming to a stand at Merlin’s side; the warlock wondered if Aglain was right about the air in the camp. Would it be rude to leave suddenly? Looking at the boy he wondered if he was bothered about politeness, when all he had asked for was peace. “Why aren’t you like this with the others?”

“Didn’t I just answer that?” The boy stuck his lower lip out. “Fine. I suppose, if I had to pick one reason? Probably because you are the most irritating.” His companion’s lip fell fully, “plus, they can’t communicate with my mind, so they’re automatically less annoying.” Merlin shrugged, before he felt a nudge in his side. “Alright,” He sighed after several seconds passed, “you’re not _too_ terrible.” He acquiesced, hoping it was enough to settle the Druid as he stared back out into the shades of black cascading over the leaves and flowers just outside their settlement. 

“You’re thinking of him, aren’t you?” Merlin refused to allow the irritation to burst his tranquil mindset of the moment, and hummed instead. “I’m sure seeing his friend has brought back some good memories.”

“Some,” he breathed, “but I never had nearly enough to begin with. I am glad she has been able to fill in some gaps.”

“But you wish he had filled them himself?” Merlin frowned, turning back to the boy standing beside him, much taller than he remembered. 

“When did you get so wise?” he narrowed his eyes at him, but the boy beamed at the compliment. “Don’t look too happy, your wisdom only makes you more irritating.” The responding laugh was unexpected, but he let one of their more peaceful moments together last for a while as they both stared into the depths of nothingness. 

It was only when even nothing was hard to see that he turned to the Druid with a thin line across his face, “you have news, I assume, Mordred?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost at the end now... feels weird completing such a big project (for me)  
> Thanks so much for the response so far! Happy people are enjoying it, and I, for one, am loving all suggestions for how to make Uther miserable even now he's dead - keep 'em coming.


	11. Starlight

Gwen was grateful for the absence of her mistress most of the day so that she did not have to keep up the pretence of ignorance, fearful that her friendship with Morgana was already feeling the strain of her suspicion. It had even crossed the maid’s mind that her lady was suspicious of _her_ , and while she had seemed to advocate peace for Arthur, how would she react to being followed by someone close to her? Morgana’s absence was unwelcome in that sense, as it meant that Gwen could not gage how the lady was feeling towards her.

When her mistress finally did return home that evening it was late, the sky filled with clouds that had been pent up over the past few days, building a reserve of water that poured over the kingdom. Gwen shivered even inside, listening to the drops pelting against the walls, hoping it might stop when she was to leave, even though she lived close. Morgana was lucky, escaping the worst of the cascade as she had rushed in moments before the clouds grumbled horrifyingly. The lady appeared unperturbed, entering her chambers with a simple nod to her maid who was stifling a yawn. Morgana shrugged out of her cloak, the only victim of what rain had come before the storm, and Gwen took it off her wordlessly before hanging it to dry. 

“Guinevere, it is late,” Morgana said, and Gwen heard the smile in her words although their backs were facing each other. “You should go home; I can manage from here.” 

The maid turned and her dress swept across the floor as she adorned her face with her sweetest smile, “My Lady,” her fingers fiddled together, “don’t worry about me; I can still see to you.”

“You are too kind,” Morgana turned too, the bright smile painting her lips appearing as authentic as it ever had, and Gwen felt her stomach tighten. “But please, Gwen, I’m not Arthur: I’m sure I can do without you for one night.” She laughed, the maid echoing it with much less humour, though Morgana hardly noticed as she softened her eyes around the edges, “get some rest.” 

Gwen brought her feet together, remaining for a second, but with a blink she asked, “if you’re sure, My Lady?” 

“Of course,” another nod, and the maid was dismissed, careful to rein in her tired sigh before leaving the room. 

* * *

Night was falling over the castle as she began to make her way out, candlelight guiding the way as the only sound covering her feet shuffling across the floor was that of the downpour outside of the walls. Even from within the maid could hear the clouds growing angrier, huffing as she accepted that her cloak had seen better days as she tried to tie it around her while rushing her steps. As a hand reached out of nowhere and grabbed at her, she briefly wondered if she should have been more focused on her surroundings; she yelped when the hand pulled her, only beginning to push back when she was brought into a cosy alcove, coming face to face with her assailant. Or, her king. 

Her eyes went wide, but eventually her heart caught up with her brain and calmed its erratic beating, and then her hands stopped scrambling and dropped to her side. Arthur kept his hand securely wrapped around her arm, bringing a finger to his lip to hush her. Gwen shook her head, “well I’m not going to call for help now I know it’s you,” she whispered sardonically when she was certain she was in no danger. The fright had gripped at her so much that she made no effort to care when Arthur’s eyebrows rose at her comment, and with her shrug it was the king who surrendered; letting out a sigh as he let go of her arm, he tried to give her as much space as he could in the cramped space. Gwen shifted, trying herself to get comfortable, hoping the king knew what it could look like if they were caught like this together. The thought was almost enough to make her laugh, but Arthur’s appearance made her think twice. 

Some might say he appeared dishevelled. Gwen would argue that they were being too kind as she took in his state; the king prided himself on his appearance, but evidently not today. His hair was all over the place, - and when he almost elbowed her as he raked a hand through it, she understood it must have had the same treatment all day - and his eyes were lost somehow. Something about his outfit and demeanour seemed _off_ , and the fact that he had pulled her into the hidden space only added to her concern; a frown fell over her as she asked, “what are you doing skulking around your own castle?” Gwen attempted to cross her arms but gave up when the limited room allowed only restricted movement. 

His eyes focused on her, “Leon said he told you?”

“Leo- about Morgana?” 

Arthur nodded, moving his hand again to run through his hair, but Gwen stopped it in its tracks; the king stared at her with a crinkle over his nose, but she shook her head and lowered the hand slowly. After a moment of confusion, Arthur carefully began his story with an eye on the maid, “I followed her today.” Gwen’s eyes brightened in the darkened alcove, hands reaching up to Arthur’s elbows. “She went to Cenred.”

“Cenred?” Gwen gasped loudly, and Arthur dropped his perplexing expression just long enough to give the maid a pointed look. “Sorry,” she blushed, “she saw Cenred?” she repeated in a whisper. 

“There was some alliance,” the king shook his head, “it wasn’t her alliance, but it was to do with the New Order and Nimueh.”

“Morgana mentioned the New Order when we followed her to Nimueh,” Gwen managed to put a finger on her chin as she thought, “but she said she wanted peace, both Leon and I heard her.”

Arthur hummed, “I know, and I can believe it. Morgana only went to Cenred to cancel the alliance.” Gwen felt the tightness in her stomach loosen ever so slightly. “She told him she would protect Camelot for as long as she could.” 

“Really?”

Arthur nodded, but his gaze was drifting into some memory she could not see, and he appeared more confused than he had ever appeared; the maid knew there was more to be said. She lifted her lips in the motherly smile she had perfected helping her father bring up her brother, and had employed often with those she knew; speaking softly she asked, “Arthur, what is it? Something more is on your mind.” 

He struggled, and she knew he was probably itching to brush through his hair when she could feel his feet shuffling this way and that close to her. She bore down on him though with her perfect smile and her maternal gaze, and it was not long before he broke, looking away. “She wants peace. I know, but…” he trailed off, but Gwen’s efforts did not falter; her hands hovered by his elbows before holding on to him, and she waited with patience until his eyes finally met with hers. “Morgana is my magical rival, Gwen. She is Magic’s Defender.” 

Gwen gasped again but regretted pulling back when her back met the cold stone wall close behind her. It was something she needed, though, when it seemed to slot the information perfectly into place in her mind; her eyes travelled as she considered, whispering to herself, “of course,” as she put all of the pieces together in one smooth motion. Morgana had never been quiet of her sympathy for those with magic, so the idea of her defending them in such a big way was hardly implausible. Then, her head stopped its movement away from the king as her eyebrows hovered, “well, that’s…” she turned to Arthur quickly, her neck aching but the hope overriding the pain, “that’s good, isn’t it?”

Arthur mouthed, “what?” as he stared at the maid as if she were crazy. 

Gwen suppressed the urge to roll her eyes as she explained, “she’s cut the alliance with Cenred, she’s shown she wants peace - not war.” She waited a moment to make sure the weary king was following, “perhaps, then, it is lucky she’s your rival: you can negotiate with her!”

The king frowned, “can I?” his eyes lost themselves once more, “there have been so many lies, I’m not sure what to think any more.” 

Gwen’s eyebrows lowered as she wondered if she knew everything, but she still smiled, “trust your judgement. You are a good king, and you always make the right choice.” Arthur’s stare still lacked confidence so her grip tightened, “if there is any chance of peace, should you not take it?”

* * *

The little starlight struggled to twinkle in the lake, but the rain disrupted any and every attempt as drops became heavier, bombarding the still water as it plinked with each onslaught. Arthur had still found Merlin laying ridiculously under the rain, covered only by trees which were of little use as droplets found their way off of leaves to meet their initial target. The king himself had covered his head with the hood of his cloak, but Merlin had draped his own out on the grass; Arthur wondered how Merlin was the only person to be so ridiculously strange sometimes, but simply apologised for his late arrival and joined his partner, knowing his concern would be met only with laughter. When he lay down, he was not surprised to see the idiot’s grin still gleaming despite his body being more rainwater than anything else, but he found comfort in it and settled down easily. Usually they had nights where they enjoyed staring up at the stars together, but he knew if he chanced a look up at the night sky he would only be splattered with droplets.

Still, the king’s mind was too heavy to find any lasting comfort even by Merlin’s side, and he fidgeted where he lay, hearing only Gwen’s advice when he watched the warlock’s mouth move as he said something. “Arthur!” Merlin snapped him from his daydream, “are you even listening to me?” 

The king gulped, his cheeks lifting his eyes in an effort to appear apologetic, “say it again,” he tried.

Merlin’s own eyes were filled with judgement as he sighed, “I doubt you’ll hear it a _third_ time.” Arthur frowned, eyes drifting as he recounted in his head, wondering when they had passed the second telling. “You look like you’ve hardly slept,” Merlin’s fingertips grazed the exposed skin at Arthur’s wrist soothingly, and Arthur’s eyes followed them around almost hypnotically before a sigh broke through his thoughts. “You can talk to me, you know?”

Arthur huffed, “I wish this rain would stop.” He turned briefly to the sky, regretting it instantly as the rain hammered down, taking advantage of the position. 

The warlock gave his own huff, and Arthur wished it were not so filled with disappointment, but Merlin still offered something when the king refused to speak, “I can do something about that.” Arthur’s head dropped back into place, coming back to Merlin, but before he could question it he saw the familiar gold lighting Merlin’s eyes before he could feel the difference in the air; it was so quick that his eyes had missed it, but when they finally moved away from Merlin they widened at the sight of it. His ears picked up the chuckle from his side at his amazement, but Arthur allowed it, considering instead the frozen droplets surrounding them. Pushing himself up slightly, he reached out for one, a faint chill rushing through him when the raindrop tilted a little before swinging back into its place when Arthur’s finger left it.

A breath of laughter escaped him, “it’s beautiful,” he whispered. There was no need for the stars as the rain itself twinkled right beside them, all around them; when the king finally lay back, his amazed smile turned into one of amusement as his more serious thoughts gave him a moment of respite. “If you can do this, why don’t you do it all the time?” 

“You don’t understand magic: some spells require much more energy than others.”

Arthur lowered his head, the beat that his thoughts had left him as quick as the beat in which they had returned as all humour evaporated. His eyes dropped to the ground, “I didn’t know.” Clearing his throat, his gaze shifted over to the lake, now twinkling serenely; raindrops hovered over it with such stillness that the king was caught short with the reminder of his partner’s power. “There’s a lot I don’t know.”

After a second, he felt Merlin shifting closer, “is this about what you saw? At the stones?” Arthur’s silence probably said more than he possibly could, but Merlin whispered his name with such a desperate need to help, that when Arthur looked back up to him, he wished he could discuss everything with Merlin so that he could deliver that help. So that he could confide in someone he trusted completely. 

Suddenly his eyes went wide as something different burst from his lips and he leaned towards Merlin eagerly, “if there was a war,” he spoke desperately, “if there was another war, Merlin, between those with magic and those without, what would you do?”

“What?” Merlin pulled his head back quickly, regarding Arthur with a strange stare; the raindrops that were knocked out of place by the movement were hazy in Arthur’s line of sight when he pushed forward and Merlin began to fidget with a loose thread on his jacket. “I don’t know,” the warlock tried, “I try not to think about it.” 

The king’s hand found its way around Merlin’s wrist in one fluid motion, and the warlock’s eyes flitted to it for less than a second before meeting back with what Arthur could only assume was a piercing stare, considering the concern and hint of fear in Merlin’s own expression. “Please,” Arthur said, attempting to soften his eyes into something not worn by a madman. 

Merlin sighed in such a way that Arthur knew he had won, “I suppose I’d go and see my mother, as she gives the best counsel.” Arthur mirrored his partner’s smile, and their expressions synchronised as the lightness fell in each at the same moment. “If it were to come to it, Arthur, I think I would have to support my people,” his chin jutted out as he spoke quietly but decisively, “my kin. Even if I could not fight, I wouldn’t watch them fall.”

Arthur’s eyes fell with Merlin’s, but he nodded with more understanding than he felt he had had all week, “and I the same,” he whispered. 

A moment of morose silence passed; without the rain pattering hard against the ground, there was nothing to distract either of them from the depression that had trapped them in a single moment, the drops dangling in the night sky only reflecting their sadness. Arthur’s hand loosened around Merlin’s wrist as he thought of the many memories they had made sitting by the lake, memories that could soon be the only thing remaining of what they have. They had never planned to be forever, but had they ever seen it coming to an end? 

“Arthur…” Merlin’s struggling voice broke the despondency, and Arthur turned to see the warlock’s face contorting as he wrestled with something. 

“What is it?”

The warlock opened his mouth, but closed it again only seconds later, and Arthur wondered if the frustration he felt was the same as what Merlin had felt earlier, so he remained patient. Still, as he often did, Merlin kept his silence and simply fixed on his brightest smile, the one that Arthur knew was not entirely genuine, and said, “it won’t happen, though,” with too much forced positivity. The king almost laughed at his optimism. Merlin must have sensed his cynicism, since Arthur had never done anything to hide it, and the next moment Arthur’s hand was being held in a wet but warm hold. “We will still have our secret meetings under the stars.” 

Arthur stared at him, his brain automatically preparing his usual jab along the lines of the warlock’s sentimentality, but his heart was not in it and he sniffed, wrapping his hand around his partner’s with an almost wet smile. He swallowed but looked sincerely into blue eyes, “I love you,” he whispered, shuffling closer. 

Merlin’s eyebrows rounded over his softened eyes, as his grin simmered down into something more genuine, “I love you, too.” 

Arthur’s eyes flickered down to the warlock’s lips as they both pushed closer; “Merlin,” he moaned, bringing his lips to hover over Merlin’s. His partner’s moved gently against his, the warm skin caressing Arthur’s, both seeking the same comfort. Their fingers locked together when one pair of eyes closed after the other, and lips met properly as they ached to touch. The king felt the rain suddenly pelting his skin once more as they attacked those who thought to stop it, but he bade it little notice when Merlin’s skin was touching his and Arthur hoped with the affection to seal a promise, a decision finally made. The movements were slow at first, but then their hands moved away from each other to hold on to the other’s body instead, to find a grip as they moved faster, hearts beating together eagerly as they wished to feel nothing else in the world. The king moved his hand gently across the warlock, finding his cheek before rubbing a thumb across it as he deepened the kiss, Merlin’s warmth spreading through him, mixing in with his blood as it raced through his being. 

When the pair parted, taking heavy breaths, their foreheads remained connected as they kept close. Half open eyes flitted up to meet each other, each man wearing a faint, sombre smile. “We’ll always have the stars,” Arthur echoed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a lil moment between Arthur and Merlin for you, please enjoy! Thanks for all the love and support, I'm glad you're all in this for the haul - although not long to go now! And thank you for comments/kudos for the art by digitalart_by_lawrie - if you haven't seen it, I've put it on the first chapter, it's awesome! Thanks again, and if you like this chapter, you know what to do ;)


	12. I Knew You Were Trouble

**Dear King Arthur**

I would be glad to negotiate with you. 

I hope that together we can create a lasting peace

between our peoples.

**\- Magic’s Defender**

* * *

Arthur stood in front of a small audience of people ready to welcome the magic rival; the sun had returned and was beaming down on them, and the king wondered if it was a sign. He smiled with peace, but if you were to glance over the men who had gathered with him you could sense their anxieties far away. Leon was closest to him, the only one who was privy to the rival’s true identity, but Arthur still felt something strange radiating from his oldest friend. As the king’s hands linked in front of him, his thumb incessantly patting the skin, he had to admit he had his own reservations: the idea of meeting Morgana in this capacity sat oddly in his stomach. However, as he fixed his chin a little higher, he could not help but feel some sense of smug satisfaction. After all, Morgana had always held herself as one not to be challenged, and yet Arthur had been able to finally catch her out. Of course, they were meeting for peace, he grinned, but there was no reason he could not spend some time gloating.

His grin faded slowly into a thoughtful expression as the memory of the discovery brought many others to mind, and having found some semblance of peace with it all he wished his people would respect his decision, but more so that his mother was proud at the lengths he had gone to; as the weeks of preparation had passed learning from Gaius, Arthur realised just how much he had learnt from his time with Merlin, and was hopeful that this peace would be the start of a new era for Camelot. The sun seemed to twinkle in his eye at the thought of his mother, and he beamed with more peace than he had felt in a long time.

As the horse entered the yard, hooded figure atop still concealing their identity from the group, Arthur straightened his posture, unaware he had let it slip; Morgana had proven herself a worthy rival, and he would offer her the respect she deserved - of course, at the back of his mind he felt some glee as he imagined Morgana’s own shock when he himself would not be surprised by the reveal. The reveal that was close: the visitor’s horse was coming to a stop before them, and Arthur was sure he saw the familiar spark of raven hair beneath the hood. The little confirmation was a comfort, and he subdued his smile as his thumb finally brought an end to its twitching. 

The hint of doubt he might have felt was nudged, though, when his rival jumped from the horse; he had never thought it would be something that would make him frown, but he had seen Morgana riding several times. He frowned, head turning a fraction as he watched the rider stand properly, the subdued smile well and truly gone from his expression when he realised the rider was no _woman._ A fact that became clear to the small audience as the hood was removed with a male hand, revealing the raven hair he had identified to be much shorter than he thought it to be. 

Arthur let his mouth hang, staring wide eyed at the man who walked over boldly before bowing to him as king, recognisable in his features but not in stance. “It is my pleasure, King Arthur,” he caught the words even as his mind trudged through the backlog of information. Once the rival was left standing for a moment, and the king’s diplomatic skill set in, he became too aware of the audience surrounding them, waiting for his move. Arthur put on a facade quickly, smiling pleasantly but feeling the air trapped in his throat. With a swallow he told himself it had found a safe passage, and managed to dig deep to find a light tone to welcome his guest, hoping the warlock saw the rage boiling beneath. 

* * *

After being forced to keep his composure for an immensely long time, taking his rival into the castle with few members of the court still in attendance, - something Arthur had only ever dreamed of - the king was grateful when they gave the pair a moment and he seized the opportunity to drag Merlin into a private room. 

Despite having a million and one things he wanted to say, wanted to ask, he had spent most of the time pacing around the rather spacious room, walking around the table with only a few glances back to Magic’s Defender who stood calmly at the door. As Arthur rattled off, “I can’t believe it” and several other mumblings, his guest remained disturbingly still. The king finally took pause at that thought, recognising the smile on Merlin’s face as one he had been wearing that morning, and was hit all too suddenly with another revelation. 

“Why aren’t you surprised?” he asked carefully. 

Merlin’s response was to shrug, which only stoked the fire building in Arthur’s chest. “I always knew you were king, Arthur,” he said almost patronisingly. “Besides the fact that it was our destiny to meet eventually, your efforts to hide your identity weren’t always…” his hand twisted in a strange circular motion as he struggled with words: definitely patronising, Arthur decided.

“You could have said!” 

“I wanted to, I just didn’t know when - we kept meeting and every time it just got harder and harder to confess.” Merlin tried, but Arthur scrunched his nose as he shook his head with a disbelieving grin. “You never said either!”

The king turned on him quickly, the fire exploding as he pinned Merlin with a dark stare, pointing a finger at the warlock with severe warning as he growled lowly, “don’t you dare. Don’t blame _me._ ” 

Unfortunately, Merlin summoned the command Arthur always knew deep down he could wield, and argued straight back, “if you had told me, I’d have done the same! I would have told you.” When the warlock quietened, he returned so quickly to his stoic stance that Arthur wondered if he had imagined the rebuttal. The king was lost for words, put off by Merlin’s posture as his own had long disappeared, and he simply scoffed at the statement as he resumed his pacing of the room. This time he muttered nothing, but imagined mournfully how the day was supposed to have gone.

When the images brought nothing but irritation to mind, he turned on Merlin with a new emotion, anger replaced by desperation that he could barely hide from his tone, “I thought…” he sighed, closing his eyes softly for a moment to try and regain something, although he had lost so much he was not sure what he wanted more. “I thought _Morgana_ was Magic’s Defender.” The admittance is more to himself, but he saw something twitch in Merlin’s otherwise stolid expression that he was finally able to hone in on, and he jumped closer, “is she part of this?” he asked, eyes perhaps more than a little crazy. 

Merlin sighed, “yes.” With the breath, Arthur rolled his head back, throwing his arms out. His rival continued, “she’s part of the New Order. It’s a small group, I lead them only because of destiny, and because I know safe places for those with magic. That’s all we do,” he tried, sounding more like the caring warlock Arthur had gotten to know, “we just help people.”

Arthur lowered his head to ask, “and how did you find her?”

“She actually found me,” he explained, his face still set carefully neutral. “Morgana realised she had magic while your father was still alive, and she came to my camp to find some guidance. I never asked for her help, but once she found out about our cause, she insisted she join.” 

“Your _cause_ ,” Arthur almost spat, his anger towards Merlin once again getting the better of him. “Morgana was making alliances; if it’s peace you want, why was she making alliances?” he demanded.

The king took some pleasure from Merlin’s hesitation, but it was soon swallowed with disappointment when it appeared the warlock had an answer for that, too. “I admit Morgana played a large part in this, but it is for her to give you her reasons. As for the alliances, well,” Merlin held his hands out, “we didn’t know for sure what you would do, we had to take precautions. That’s all they were.” 

“A _precaution_?” Arthur stepped back; eyes narrowed. 

Merlin nodded, “if you know of them, you’ll know they are only with peaceful rulers who know our terms: should we succeed in bringing peace today for those with magic in Camelot, they will stand down. This is why Morgana was our… ambassador, so to speak,” he shrugged, “she’s intelligent, and she understands the nobility much greater than I do. Your “sister” is a perfect and powerful diplomat.”

“I know what she is!” Arthur yelled, slamming his fist down on the table. “I don’t need _you_ to tell me so.” He growled again, and took some pleasure as Merlin swallowed, flinching at the sudden outburst of the king. Arthur would have taken more joy out of it, but that morning he had still been in love with the man. The clumsy idiot whose grin could brighten anyone’s day, who might one day in the future be allowed into Camelot, now standing inside the castle boldly in blue robes much fancier than anything Arthur had seen him in. The king closed his eyes as his breath tried to slow down, the only thing heard in the room where the light lit up dust flowing around them while the tension choked its occupants. 

When his breath was relatively calm, the rage boiling his heart simmering down to a low murmur, he opened his eyes carefully and felt his stomach flip as Merlin was still standing diplomatically, with a power that Arthur had hidden away in the back of his mind. The king rubbed a hand over his paling, weary face, wondering when everything had all become so complicated, wishing the gods might stop toying with him for one day so that he might be ready for the next. 

He waved a hand towards Merlin and asked, “how?” Merlin frowned. “How are you…” waving his hand again, his head shrunk into his shoulders, “ _this_?” he grimaced at his own inability to articulate his thoughts, especially when Merlin was proving to not be so incompetent, but did not correct himself as he waited. 

Merlin blinked, but somehow stood straighter, “my father was Balinor, _your_ father’s advisor.” 

Arthur gulped down the still fresh guilt as eyes went wide, “but, Balinor was a Dragon Lord.” Merlin nodded gently, _still patronisingly?_ Arthur wondered. “Does that make you-”

-“yes. The last,” Merlin finished for him, and the king’s eyebrows rose to his hairline.

The king’s body was weakening, his legs aching as if they could no longer hold him, and his body wavered; Merlin finally took his first step towards him since they had both been alone, but despite the haze clouding his mind, Arthur caught sight of the warlock’s hand reaching out to him. He wanted more than anything to accept the touch, the eyes watching him with concern the same that he had fallen for, but he recoiled, knowing they had been stolen by a stranger. 

Arthur grabbed out for a chair instead, his eyes neither warm nor soft as he narrowed them towards Merlin with a warning. The warlock’s hand froze in the air, before he slowly recalled it, appearing for the first time since that morning like he did not belong, that he was not holding the upper hand. The king lowered himself into the chair resignedly, taking all the weight with him as he breathed carefully, while Merlin regained his noble stance, but remained closer to Arthur with caution in his eyes. 

Arthur stared ahead, his eyes dropping sadly as he rested his arms on the table, hands clasping desperately just to have something to hold on to. He sighed, “everything I knew,” he shook his head, “nothing is true, none of it. Everything my father told me, everything _Morgana_ told me.” He turned back to Merlin with the same sadness twinkling in his eyes that drowned his heart, “everything _you_ told me.” 

Merlin was quick by his side, one hand on the chair beside him, the other held out to him as Magic’s Defender hunched so Arthur was forced to stare into blue eyes he used to picture in his mind. “Arthur, you have to know,” his words were no longer coated with superiority as he spoke desperately, “what we did, what we said to each other, I never once lied about that.” Arthur stared back at him, sad eyes meeting desperate ones, and he wished he did not feel the hope igniting inside of him. “You have to understand, I had to keep my identity from you - or you might never have spoken to me again!”

Arthur laughed bitterly as his eyebrows brewed a storm, “and I had to, didn’t I?” he spat as Merlin blinked, innocently confused, “because you needed me. I was just a pawn for you, so you could convince me to trust magic!” 

Merlin’s eyes widened as he pulled back, shaking his hands quickly as he repeated “no!” Arthur saw only fury, though, and shook his head, turning away from the liar. He heard the warlock asking him to face him again, but on refusal Merlin tried to explain anyway. “I admit, Arthur, that at first, peace was my only aim, of course it was! My people are fleeing for their lives just when they think they have settled somewhere safe, and none of it’s their fault! Someone has guided hate against them, and they have nowhere to go.”

The king turned swiftly then, his side cramping but his soul ablaze as he readied a defence, tightening his fist. Merlin stopped him immediately, though, continuing before Arthur had the chance, “but I know you were lied to, and I know you thought it was for the greater good; neither of us knew the whole truth, either.” The warlock was trying hard to calm the king with the gentle expression and soft tone that Arthur knew, edging closer once more. “Arthur,” he looked at him with a sweet, slanted sort of helpless smile as he grabbed his hand, “we grew with each other and I came to understand you. Before - before you were just King Arthur, someone I created in my mind. Then I saw that the _real_ you was kind, and you…” he struggled, but Arthur did not seize the moment to interrupt, unable to take his eyes away as he was caught by the passion Merlin spoke with. “You were willing to learn, you questioned what you were told, and you found the truth on your own. I never thought of you as King Arthur, just _Arthur_ , and everything I felt for you was true.” He stared at Arthur deeply, “I love you,” he whispered. 

Time dragged so slowly around the king that it almost felt like it was not passing at all, his brain so overloaded that it felt stuck in mud as it tried to process secret after secret, lie after lie, to distinguish any truth in it all. His empty eyes focused on his hand cradled in Merlin’s, and without thought he removed it without much effort; he heard Merlin’s hurt before he saw it, but he was too lost to feel anything for it. 

Merlin tried once more, “I don’t know how I can prove it, but-”

-“someone I grew with,” Arthur whispered, cutting off the hopeless pleas from the side, and Merlin remained quiet. “My mother told me someone I grew with could destroy my kingdom, if I didn’t act justly and with an open mind.” He leaned back in his chair as everything fell into place, hands resting unclenched on the table as his neck stretched, and he stared at the distance ahead. “That’s why I believed it was Morgana; as my father’s ward we grew together, and she has always been outspoken on her views of those with magic.” The sound of robes shifting was the only noise to come from beside him as he voiced his final realisation, taking advantage of the moment of peace. “It was you she meant,” he spoke with faint acceptance, “it was never Morgana.”

Finally, the storm ended, calm returning in a wave over him, a strange sort of tranquillity encompassing his entire being even as he knew the tension was only growing for Merlin, who still had yet to say a word. He briefly wondered if Merlin had become too anxious to speak, but only cared that there was quiet as he made silent decisions. He took a few soothing breaths, surprised by the way they did not get caught in his throat as he believed he would have to get used to. Then he dared a glance at Merlin, a man he thought he knew, but a man he might never know. He found concern in the sea of the irises staring back, and his mind settled on something. 

Taking a deep breath, he decreed, “people have been lying to me my whole life, and I’m only just beginning to see it.” Merlin opened his mouth to interject, presumably to defend himself, but Arthur held up a hand, “but, I rule with my heart, as always. I’ve been betrayed by a dead man, whose greed and hatred has not only caused the deaths of my mother and many other innocents, but my blindness to their cause.” He faced Merlin directly, eyes locking but lacking their usual warmth, “you will have your peace, Merlin,” he bowed his head gently, “it will take time, but attitudes have already been changing; I hope to be able to bring the nobility and the people around soon. We will bring in a new era of peace and prosperity,” he smiled weakly, but he still felt a little empty. 

Merlin offered the same sort of smile, before asking tentatively, “and what about us?” 

Arthur sighed, both prepared and unprepared at the same time, only able to offer little, “I hid my own position from you, not knowing you saw through it.” He raised his eyebrows briefly, “therefore it would be hypocritical of me to judge too harshly.” Merlin did not appear reassured, and Arthur swallowed as he leaned towards the man, feeling almost cruel as he spoke, “but I need time to think; I’ve learned too much in too little time, and I need to figure out the right path for myself. Alone.” The king stared at Merlin with more sadness than anger, only imploring the warlock not to hate him, either. 

It was a few moments before Merlin reacted, long, drawn out ones where one of them might have been tempted to reach out for the other, but he drew back with a reserved nod. “I understand completely. I’m grateful for the promise of peace and look forward to what it should bring.” His smile was earnest, but it fell quickly, “I hope at least, if you can’t find it in yourself to continue what we genuinely had, that you can forgive me.” Arthur offered a respectful nod of his own, filled with a genuine promise that he would think of nothing else. 

Their private meeting drew to a close in silence, and Merlin made his way to the door first, his feet silently shuffling away as Arthur watched, aching to call him back. Maybe the warlock had heard his silent pleas because he turned back, and Arthur sat up, but he looked solemn as he said only, “I’m still the same man, Arthur. My destiny and my position don’t change that; they don’t change who you fell in love with, as yours hasn’t changed you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realise just how much I put Arthur through it when I planned the story, it just sort of happened that way. Please pray for him.  
> \------------------------------------------------  
> brownielocks57 you called it (Taylor Swift and Magic's Defender)!  
> Every time I post a new chapter I'm looking forward to posting the next, but we're coming to the end!  
> Thanks for the support everyone, I've really enjoyed all of the comments and everything and am glad to see people are liking the story, lemme know what you think of the chapter :)


	13. Everything Has Changed

Morgana stood by the castle wall, arms draped over the top so she could lean forward and watch as Merlin and a number of Druids left the kingdom after days of peace talks went ahead. The lady had been delighted to hear of the peace being brokered, but her painted smile was faint as she watched the group readying themselves to leave for their hidden camp, well aware there was still a long way to go. 

“Morgana,” a voice spoke in greeting behind her. Her smile brightened slightly, but she did not move when the king came to stand by her side, his focus also on the procession. She took a surreptitious glance of him for a moment, watching the king through the corner of her eye, but she needn’t have followed his eyeline to know which of the Druids he watched keenly. “I’m sorry I haven’t seen you these past few days.” Arthur broke the silence, perhaps aware of her eyes on him, “I’ve been rather busy,” he finished unnecessarily. The king leaned against the wall as she did, but with a greater slump as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Morgana felt sympathetic, for she had already learned how to carry the weight of her own secrets.

The lady did not reply, content to keep her eyes below as the muffled sound of Druids chattering reached up to the pair while the cold air of the morning brushed against her white skin. As the sounds grew more distant, she sighed and her eyes remained on the empty space, “I think it is wonderful.” 

For a while they stood in silence, a more comfortable silence between them than they had had for some time. The wind blew at Morgana’s clothes, the fabric pulling back whilst strands of hair covered her eyes, but she let them be for the moment as she wondered if Arthur too had missed this. When they were younger they had been closer, but then Uther wanted to spend more time preparing Arthur to be king; she was there for him when needed, but he fell further and further into Uther’s shadow, and she had always feared he might never find his own. 

Morgana was enjoying the peace of her thoughts before she saw Arthur moving, and he cut off the silence, “I know, Morgana.” He swallowed, “I know you’re part of the New Order, I know you have magic.” 

The lady’s lips perked up at the corners and she let out a breath, “I know,” she nodded. She did not have to look to see his frown, but she turned anyway for the pure satisfaction of it. “As I know that both Leon and Gwen followed me, and then you, too.” 

Arthur’s eyebrows went instantly from over his eyes to his hairline, and Morgana felt nothing more than amusement, letting her face show it, too. The king joined her after seconds had passed, his shock fading into something of a smile and he laughed with a shake of his head, “of course.” His eyes looked up to the sky as he seemed to relax into the stone wall again, but it was only a moment before he cleared his throat again. 

After a moment he pushed himself off the wall slowly and faced Morgana straight on, and she decided to offer him the same. “I wanted to thank you,” he spoke levelly, “for not joining an alliance against me, for having faith in me.” His body appeared to be slumping, but he picked it up before it had the chance, “I only wish I had been able to see the truth about my father and magic sooner, as you had.” 

Morgana’s bushy eyebrows fell softly, curving her eyes gently as she mustered as much sincerity as she could to curb Arthur’s guilt. “Arthur, you are a great king, and with magic on your side, you will be an even greater one.”

Arthur shook his head, “I don’t wish to use its power-”

-“I meant only that you will have the support of _all_ of your people,” she cut him off quickly with a smile, holding her head high as she remained unafraid to question the king, hoping to remind him that somethings would not change. It had the desired effect, and when Arthur closed his mouth silently, she nodded once in triumph. 

Again, Morgana thought she was done there, happy to turn back to the sky for the peace of the morning to settle before she might have to carry on with the day. Unfortunately, before she could turn Arthur put a hand out to stop her, his eyes scanning the floor before he spoke to her. “I have to ask,” he looked at her, “Merlin, he said you had your own reasons for joining his cause, reasons you should tell me yourself.” Morgana felt her face fall for the first time that morning, her earlier satisfaction and triumph caught in the wind as she prepared herself to turn back, but Arthur must be able to read her well enough by now that he stopped her, “please.” His words were desperate as he stepped forward, “it feels like my eyes are open for the first time, if there’s something else, _anything,_ I have to know now.” 

Morgana stared at him, the king she had always known he could be making an appearance, and she had faith he would maintain the image soon. She swallowed hard, but she crossed her arms as she made the decision. “Fine,” with a huff of surrender, her lips thinned, “I was not Uther’s ward, but his daughter.” Arthur blinked and Morgana tilted her head, “Uther had an affair with my mother while Gorlois was away; Gorlois is not my father.” 

“But…” Arthur stared, sounding distant, “that means…” 

“It means nothing,” she said with confidence, holding her head high. Arthur’s nose crinkled at the top, but she remained tall. “I still see Gorlois as my father, and I have absolutely no desire for the throne.” After a moment, Arthur tried a small smile, but she could see the struggle inside and so added playfully, “far too much work.” Thankfully Arthur huffed a laugh at that, and Morgana regained her triumphant grin. 

Once Morgana was sure there was nothing else the king had to say, she returned to her position at the wall, leaning over despite the clamour of Druids having left earlier. The quiet was nice, though, and she realised she was not yet used to the peace; sparing a glance at Arthur who, too, had leaned back against the wall, she knew it must be the same for him. He would still be king, though, while Morgana would miss playing diplomat. Still, she would enjoy being open with her powers, and that, for now, was enough. 

As they remained side by side, she could feel Arthur’s weariness spreading, and she was certain there were new lines on his face. His eyes were heavy and sombre as he stared out at the empty space left by their recent visitors, and Morgana knew that despite the barrage of news the king had received, one piece still stuck heavy at the forefront of his mind. 

“I know you were close with him,” she said into the air, “Merlin.” 

She could hear Arthur’s eyes roll, “he told you.”

Her lips turned up into another grin, “actually, no. I saw you both in the woods once.” 

“How?”

“Neither of you are very discrete.” She turned a little towards him with judgement in her eyes, “you kept skulking off, how did you not think I would notice?” 

“And you had to follow?”

“Obviously!” 

Arthur shook his head with a fond smile making its way on to his face, “I suppose we’re even on that front, then.” His eyes narrowed at Morgana, who only smiled too innocently. 

It was a nice moment, but eventually it wore away from Arthur, as in a breath he blew away the smile and looked more contemplative than Morgana would argue she had ever seen him. “We’ve hardly spoken,” he said before Morgana could burst with impatience. “When we have to be in the same room, he’ll smile at me, but that’s it.” He slumped again, not bothering to correct it, “I know right now it’s for the best, but…” he trailed off lamely, and Morgana looked at him as she would a kicked puppy. 

“He is still the same person, you know. Trust me, he was certainly not acting that clumsy,” she laughed, but Arthur did not reciprocate, and her smile fell to mirror his mood. “He never lied to you about his magic, either. You knew he was powerful?”

Arthur’s sigh was all she received, but she heard his acceptance. Still, he shrugged, “I don’t know what to do, Morgana. He lied to me.”

“Only about his position, not how he felt about you. Please believe me when I say there were times I would have to make him stop talking about you.” Arthur looked up at that. “I think sometimes even he forgot his position when he thought about you.” The king remained quiet, and Morgana leaned on her arm to level herself with him, “in his place, would you not have done the same? Did you not do the same?”

Again, Arthur offered only silence as his response and Morgana wondered if he was concocting a defence in his head or was simply conceding her with his speechlessness, but then he spoke. “I’m sorry.” Morgana took a moment before frowning. “That you couldn’t tell me, that you had to find help outside of Camelot. I can’t imagine how alone you must have felt.” His eyes were rounded with sympathy, but his soul was racked by guilt, and in the moment, he looked more pitiful than Morgana ever could. 

The lady placed her hand over his and stared at it, “Arthur,” she sighed, “there have been times where, of course, I have wanted to tell you or Gwen. I understood, though, that to do so could have done more harm than good.”

“I would have helped you,” Arthur cut in, but Morgana smiled simply. 

“You don’t know that you could, and it would have been wrong to put any of you in that position. I am lucky I found people who could help, and whilst at first, I felt alone in the castle, eventually I found out more about myself with people who understood it. There are others who have been less fortunate,” Arthur grimaced, appearing ready to interject so Morgana spoke quickly, “but your new peace will offer hope for many.”

Arthur settled slightly, “I wish I could have helped you, everyone.”

Morgana’s smile turned sweet in a way she had not directed at Arthur in a while as he grew under his father’s shadow. “I don’t blame you; you could not know then. But,” her eyes twinkled, “you can now, and you can finally appreciate my true worth!” 

* * *

Morgana entered her chambers later in the day when Arthur had announced he had other things to be getting on with, only to find Gwen cleaning; the maid looked up at her when the door creaked open, but it was a quick glance and a polite smile, before she went almost instantly back to her work. The lady sighed as she closed the door quietly, wondering how much might have changed between them. 

“Guinevere,” she stuck on her own smile when she turned, desperate to initiate some sort of conversation after days without their usual chatter. Her smile was more hesitant than she would have liked, so she tried to keep her tone light and casual, “have you heard about the peace?”

Gwen nodded, putting down some object Morgana eyed with curiosity, wondering when she had been given the item she had obviously forgotten. Her eyes went back to the maid though when she stood straighter, “of course, how could I not? It is all anyone in the castle is talking about.” Morgana laughed strangely; the sound definitely more awkward than she would have liked. “I am glad for it,” the maid said when Morgana had nothing, but the lady was sure the words were pointed, and her smile grew more confident. 

“As am I.”

Although the words may have been said to make a point, the same silence that had been over them for the past week settled once more in the room, and Gwen picked at her fingers. Morgana tried to stand as tall as she did with Arthur and those other kings and queens, but found herself faltering in front of her maid, who knew her better than anyone. She stared at the floor, taking in the distance between her own feet and Gwen’s, and her facade began to slip slowly as she heard another of Gwen’s nervous sighs. 

The strain would have been difficult for anyone, and eventually Morgana caved, “I know you know-”

-“I know you have magic,” Gwen cracked at the same moment. 

As a stuffy silence once again descended over the room as they both tried to figure out what the other had said, their words muffled together as their lies finally reached their peak. There is only a moment then before genuine smiles lift on both faces, the pair sharing a laugh to drive away the unwanted quiet that had invaded their friendship.

“I am pleased you do not seem afraid,” Morgana said, her voice still holding some fear of its own as she watched Gwen carefully.

“What is there to fear?” the maid held her chin up, “I have known you too long.” Her smile was gentle and reassuring, and Morgana let go of a breath she did not know she was holding. 

“It is nice to have a true friend by my side.”

Despite the break in tension, the two remained planted to their allocated space, neither yet fully confident to move to the other. Morgana could still feel tension around her, could feel Gwen’s eyes on her as her mouth moved strangely. “What is it?” 

Gwen hesitated with a duck of her head, but eventually took a step closer. “Can I see?” Morgana’s frown deepened. “Your magic, could I see it?” 

Morgana’s eyes lit up, ready in a second to show off what she never could to her closest friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost the end guys! Hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I have writing it, lemme know :)


	14. Enchanted

Arthur followed the messenger through the brambles and bushes and trees, using his arm to swat at the errant branches, with only a hint of anxiety that he was being led astray; the boy guiding him through the forest seemed nice enough, chattering away aimlessly to the king who followed behind. His eyes often wandered back towards Camelot, checking his footprints in the mud and wondering if he would be able to follow them back if he had to. He had to keep bringing his head back up with a forced reminder that he would have no need to run, but unfortunately old habits die hard. It had been weeks since peace talks had begun to offer hope of realistic change, but Arthur had told the Druids it would take longer for the suspicion held by people to leave, not admitting his own was still clinging on by a thread. He had spent months with Merlin, though, so he was certainly in a better position than most people. 

“Almost there,” the boy shouted back to him over his shoulder as the ground began to even out and the branches Arthur had missed because he was lost in thought no longer caught his face. He ran a hand over his hair wondering just how messy the twigs had left it on this apparently perilous journey, but his vanity disappeared in an instant when he came to a stop beside the messenger. His hand slipped away from his head slowly as his eyes widened to take in a strange but magical sight. _Truly_ magical. 

The king had visited few Druid camps, and he grimaced when he realised none of his arrivals had ever been without men beside him. Still, as his eyes roamed over the campsite, he could not think of one that had ever appeared so… full of life. Flowers grew to abnormal heights right in front of his eyes, and he would have blinked had he not been so captivated that he did not want to miss anything; children ran, playing together and laughing as adults did nothing to temper their fun, instead simply making way when infants ran at them so they were not knocked off their feet by the sheer force of joy. 

A smile was working its way on to his face before he could even think, but when his thoughts caught up with it, he swallowed it down immediately with years of guilt crushing any delight he might have taken from the scene. No, a Druid camp had never been so light before, so alive, and there was only one reason for that. 

“Your Majesty,” he registered Mordred’s voice, lifted with amusement that told him he had called his title once already. Shaking his head, he removed himself from the haze of memories, nightmares of children’s screams filling his ear even before he had learnt the truth about magic. “He’s over there,” the boy pointed, “I’ll take you over.”

Arthur nodded, too choked to find words as his feet stomped automatically across the grass, eyes scanning the floor in an effort to not squash any of the flowers conjured before him. His lips did manage to flick up at the corners when he caught sight of Merlin, the powerful warlock bending over at the centre of a group of small children, helping them create flowers and creatures. When butterflies fluttered away from the circle, he almost held a hand to his chest, the memory evoked both delight and pain at the same time, and Arthur wished his mind would focus on one emotion for longer than a second. Unfortunately, his mind still struggled a moment later when he saw that stupid grin spread across Merlin’s face, and his stomach rebelled, twisting into a knot he worried could never be undone. 

The messenger and the king finally stopped before him, one with a smile and the other unable to settle even on a mask to present; Merlin knew they were there but took a while in greeting them. When he finally let the children go, he stood tall but his eyes settled on Arthur with a cocked eyebrow; he said nothing but lingered for seconds that felt like minutes, before he took a look at the boy who had brought him. “Mordred,” he said in a tone that was dismissing rather than welcoming. When Arthur turned to the messenger he frowned sympathetically, as he clearly had not understood the silent instruction to leave. 

“Merlin,” Mordred smiled brightly. The warlock stared at him pointedly still, and Arthur felt his sympathy losing rather easily to amusement. 

Eventually Merlin gave up on subtlety, the poor boy too young to understand it, and rolled his eyes, “go away, Mordred.” 

It appeared Arthur was not the only one then struggling with emotions as he watched the range cover the boy’s face; first surprise, then droopy, pleading eyes, and finally something akin to thunder which became permanent as Mordred stormed away with a huff. The king turned to Merlin with his own look of surprise, but the warlock barely shrugged, “he’ll get over it.” Arthur’s eyebrow rose. “It’s character building.” 

“You could have been a bit more… gentle,” Arthur suggested casually, ignoring the stone in his stomach. “He did bring me all the way here, and I can tell you, it was an incredibly hard place to find!” 

“I never asked him to,” Merlin still appeared totally indifferent, “and I think you know the reason for that.” 

If there had been a stone in the king’s stomach before, there was now a boulder. The few words uttered defeated any amusement Arthur wanted to take from the little interaction, and he smacked his lips together quickly; he could have blamed it on the branches hitting him on the way, but really he probably needed another hit on the head. 

He turned his head away, eyes roaming over the camp whilst taking surreptitious glances at Merlin, who was giving absolutely nothing away much to Arthur’s dismay. “Do you like the flowers?” the warlock asked him. The question was casual, but nothing at all about this was casual that it could be. 

Arthur still scoffed, “don’t be such a girl, Merlin.” 

Again, he had been stupid. Again. When his eyes travelled back to the warlock he was not fixed with the usual amused irritation, instead with _nothing._ Merlin was blocking him off at every entrance, and Arthur could not gleam anything from the lack of expression. 

He sobered quickly and cleared his throat, “they’re beautiful,” he admitted sincerely, fixing his eyes on Merlin. “I’ve never seen this before at a Druid camp.” 

“They’re celebrating.” With that, Merlin finally allowed a smile, but somehow it still did not fill Arthur’s soul with anything other than confusion. 

The king attempted to lift his own smile anyway, “as they should.” 

Merlin’s happiness did not last for long when he fixed Arthur with a resigned stare, “why are you here?” 

Arthur sniffed, shifting on his feet, “Nimueh. Morgana told me she was here.” Merlin nodded once. “I’d like to see her.” 

* * *

Nimueh watched the boy enter her little tent but said nothing as her eyes stuck to him eerily, following as he sat down across from her with a sigh that was made to sound more casual than it was. She watched his fingers twitching almost immediately as he rested his arm on his lap, sitting straight in the seat he would not be able to relax in; his whole body seemed clenched, tight, his eyes watching hers but much more vulnerable. 

It felt odd to think that she might have the upper hand, that she was intimidating, when she had not felt that way in so long. Even during her visits with Cenred, it was hard to commit to an act that had gone cold after years without use. The king looked younger than she had ever pictured, and she let out a calming breath to prepare herself for a completely different meeting with him than what she had been planning for some time. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur broke the silence, his fist clenching and unclenching as his eyes already began to glitter in the stream of light shining through the slit at the entrance. “For everything that happened to you.” Nimueh cocked her head to the side slightly, taking in his choked words. “I never knew my mother,” he stopped to swallow hard, “but I knew she would have been just as sorry. Not just for you, but for all of it. For all the innocent lives lost.” He shook his head and blinked, “I never knew,” he whispered. 

The display was strange to witness, but Nimueh already felt her own cheeks wet, and she gently pressed her fingers against her skin to confirm it. Recently, the emotions had come hard and fast; meeting Balinor’s son again was a beautiful experience, but he had turned out exactly as she imagined he would - he did not surprise her. The sorceress’ lips parted as Arthur’s eyes grew wetter, his voice echoing in her mind not matching the one she had created in her mind, not matching _Uther’s_ , and she began to wonder how she had merged the two. 

“Arthur,” she whispered, finding her own voice lacking the superiority it once held magnificently, replaced only with the same sadness in Arthur’s eyes as he looked to her. “It is not your fault.” She closed her eyes, lowering her head, “you were kept in the dark and fed vicious lies,” she sighed, “but you cannot be blamed for that.” Then she looked up with some determination, “Arthur _du Bois_ , it is only Uther Pendragon who is to blame, and I do not hold anything against you. Not when you are trying to unite our peoples once more.” The hesitant smile she had been growing used to since arriving at the camp, surrounded by people, worked its way on her aging face. “You have the same heart as your mother.” 

Arthur gasped, holding a hand to his mouth, and she watched him without any wish to do harm, only with sadness. When he recovered, he made his own attempt to mirror her smile, and she laughed. It was a wet, unusual sound, but when she saw the face of her old friend before her, she could hardly help it. 

The tension in the cosy tent calmed, Arthur’s own seeping out of him, and the king leaned forward. “Whenever my father spoke of her, he would always - he always had this _look_ ,” he frowned, waving a hand as he described it. “And I never quite understood it. It was rare he spoke of her, and so I soon assumed it was simply too painful for him when he did. I thought he couldn’t bear to talk about her.” Arthur swallowed again, “and I suppose I was right, he couldn’t. But now I know, he despised my mother. It wasn’t pain caused by love, it was because she cared more for the people than his- his desire for glory and power.” He spat, his words turning more hurt towards the end. 

Nimueh watched him, almost rocking back and forth as he processed his words for himself. The king she had wanted to kill only a few weeks ago now a boy she had misunderstood; she began to wonder, even if he had not called for peace, would she have been capable of murdering him, when he carried his mother’s soul within him? In the silence that settled around them, she was weighed down by the same guilt that Arthur was dumping on himself, and for that moment she was glad of his company. 

“I came here to apologise,” Arthur broke the silence again the same way, but Nimueh was more confident this time. 

“Yes, but it is not you that should,” she sighed. He opened his mouth and she stopped him instantly, “if you insist, however, your apology is gratefully accepted.” She almost smiled, “you are forgiven, Arthur.” His mouth soon closed, and she wanted to mirror his look of thankfulness, but instead she said, “but then you must accept mine.” 

“What?” 

“I did not kill your mother, my friend, all those years ago.” She paused with a breath. “But, I had wanted to kill you.” The pause this time was to allow it to sink in, and Arthur sat back with an exhale. “I believed, as Uther’s son, you were the man himself. If I had not been guided by Morgana and Merlin, I would not have given you a chance. I see now that would have been a grave mistake, and I must apologise to you, and to Ygraine, whom I have betrayed even by _thinking_ of harming her son.” 

Arthur was quiet for a time, taking over the role of observer and listener, processing what must have been a great deal to take in. Nimueh wondered if he might have left, and she certainly would not have blamed him for doing so. 

When his breath came out louder, she was certain he was going to leave, when he said, “under my rule, people with magic have died. Maybe under my father it was more, but they were still people who, often, had done nothing wrong. I was misguided by my father, and had I not been set right, I wouldn’t be here.” He leaned forwards, “I’ve made mistakes, Nimueh, like you. But, if you can forgive mine, then I must forgive yours, because neither of us are the same as we once were.” 

Nimueh’s smile returned brighter, her tears dripping from her face. “You are already so wise,” she tilted her head, “most definitely a trait from your mother.” 

Arthur’s own smile was warm as he asked, “you knew her well?” Nimueh’s lips thinned with the smile as she was surprised to hear his voice sound so much smaller than only a moment ago, but she nodded. “Would you tell me about her? The truth?” He was leaning forward so much that he was almost falling from the seat, and so with a pat to her right she ushered him beside her. 

“I’ll tell you.” 

* * *

When Arthur left the tent, he was left emotionally exhausted, his eyes burning with drying tears, but his heart lighter than it had been going in. As his gaze flicked across the camp, settling on the familiar figure standing not a long distance away, - which Arthur hoped was intentional - he strode forward, one thing left to do. 

“Merlin,” he called, his throat rough. The warlock looked up in an instant, his face less closed off than before, almost sympathetic. 

“How was it?” his face scrunched with concern, and Arthur suddenly wished he had been able to remove the tear tracks that were stuck to his cheeks. 

With a sniff and a shrug, he opened his mouth with a ready casual lie, but when he properly considered Merlin, he faltered as his breath caught. The warlock had to have noticed, and Arthur knew that even if the tracks had not given him away, his hesitation certainly had, so he sighed. “Strange,” he said honestly, holding his head up, “but rather comforting, actually.” 

“I’m glad,” Merlin’s contorted expression morphed into a bright smile, that was, until he lifted his hand. 

Arthur frowned when it paused in mid-air, Merlin’s eyes at Arthur’s shoulder. The warlock remained frozen for a minute, but then his smile dropped slowly with his hand, and he tucked away the emotion with a duck of his head and a clearing of his throat. “I suppose it’s off to Camelot with you,” he scratched the back of his hair, looking at the grass below. 

The king’s chest panged at the hidden sadness; the warlock somehow unable now to keep his cool as he had before. “Well,” he said, “I didn’t only come here for Nimueh.”

Merlin’s head came back up far too quickly, and he realised it, too. “Oh?” he asked, aiming for the nonchalance he had wielded so well when Arthur had arrived. 

“Merlin, I’ve been thinking-”

-“I’m sorry, Arthur!” Merlin burst, and Arthur had to double back, the closed off warlock seeming something of a dream as the one in the present threw his hands up and continued to shift around on his feet. “I wanted to tell you, of course! We just kept getting closer - _not_ because I planned to - and it just became more difficult-”

-“Merlin,”

-“and I thought it would be fine because you didn’t exactly tell me _you were king,_ and I knew that was wrong, but-”

-“Merlin,”

-“that’s all I could think to justify it! Then we went to the stones, and you started to ask me about the chance of another _war_ which almost made me break-”

-“ _Mer_ lin!” Arthur shouted, finally shutting the fool up; Merlin shut his mouth quickly as his crazed eyes settled on the king, wild arms falling to his sides. Arthur noticed the rest of the camp quiet too as Merlin’s pale skin blushed, so he waited a moment before life kicked back in again around them. Lowering his voice, he said, “I understand.” 

Merlin blinked, pulling back. Arthur waited a moment, but the warlock simply blinked again. “What? You understand?”

“Yes,” Arthur sighed heavily, brushing a hand through his hair. “I did the same, after all.”

“But I knew-”

-“I didn’t know that, though.” Arthur’s eyes softened at the edges before Merlin could ramble again. “I do understand,” he smiled tentatively, “and I know everything we had was true, too.” 

“Of course it was, I wouldn’t lie!” 

Arthur quickly put a hand to stop the warlock, who apparently was still on high alert despite the king’s calmness. When Merlin shut his mouth for the third time, Arthur smiled amusedly, “I know,” he emphasised, stretching the words. 

It took a moment or so, but finally Merlin’s lips twitched. 

“You’re someone I’ve been counting on since I became king almost, even when I knew about your magic. You were there when I needed you, and I wish I had confided in you more, so that you could, too.” Merlin’s hesitant smile was settling, becoming warmer as Arthur took a step closer. “I’m always glad to have you by my side.” 

After a moment of silent conversations passed through their eyes, the concerns answered with one stare, Merlin’s fingers started to touch Arthur’s and the warlock stared down at them and jutted out his chin as he whispered, “I’ve missed you.” 

Arthur laughed a little because it has not been so long since they last saw each other, but he couldn't agree more and when Merlin lifted his head, he told him so. “I wanted to tell you,” Arthur started, holding Merlin’s hand between them, “I think I’ve figured out a way we could unite our peoples more formally, give them some symbol.” Somehow his smile lifted as Merlin frowned. 

“How?”

“We need to come together, as leaders of each group, and create a _binding alliance._ ” He raised his eyebrows to emphasise his words, but Merlin’s frown deepened as he pulled his head back. 

“Arthur?” 

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Merlin, can you please not be such a clotpole when I’m _trying_ to ask you to marry me?” 

The result was instantaneous, with Merlin’s eyebrows shooting into his hair, “are- are you serious?” 

“Obviously!” 

“Arthur,” Merlin warned lowly. 

“Merlin, I’m not joking.” He stared at the warlock carefully, offering full sincerity in his eyes as his hand tightened around Merlin’s. 

After studying the king carefully for an age, Arthur assumed Merlin believed him when he was pulled in and suddenly their lips met; he was confused at first, but easily melted into the motion when Merlin’s hand held his shirt to keep him in place, and he wondered how he had gone so long without the touch. 

When they pulled apart to catch their breath, - albeit begrudgingly - Arthur grinned. “I assume you’re all for it?” 

* * *

Morgana appeared at the doorway quietly, standing just outside for a moment so that she could catch a glimpse from afar and try and take it all in. Unfortunately, his eyes caught hers almost immediately, and she was met with a grin she found utterly ridiculous but heart-warming at the same time. When she gave up on her attempt at sleuthing, something she supposed she would have to say goodbye to for the time being, the lady strode over slowly to the warlock alone in the room. 

“You look lovely.” Merlin’s grin grew, and as ridiculous as it was, it was certainly contagious. 

Morgana admired the clothes he wore, “I like these robes on you, they suit you well.” 

Once the door had closed behind her the room had gone quiet, the bustle going on just outside barely breaking through the barrier, and so the silence was harder to escape. Morgana looked up at Merlin with the same speechless smile he wore as he smoothed down his robes, the light of the sunrise catching his white skin through the window, brought out with the different shades of blue swirling in the outfit he was draped in. 

“Morgana,” he took his hands from the robe, “I wanted to thank you. Without you, none of this would have been possible; you’ve helped bring about peace.” 

The lady felt her skin go warm, “there is no need.” She held her chin up, “you helped me a great deal, too.” The smile fell as her eyes wandered with thought, and she confessed, “I saw in Nimueh what I might have become, and I am only glad I found you.” 

“Nimueh’s doing well,” Merlin reassured her, “even when we feel completely lost, there’s always hope.” Morgana tilted her head and Merlin shrugged, “Aglain always told me that - sometimes he does speak some sense.” The sorceress chuckled, and Merlin basked in the joy. “You’re just as wise, Morgana, to come for help.” 

Morgana’s smile faltered as she swallowed, tears appearing as the gravity of the situation finally sunk in, her heart beating faster than ever before. “We have waited so long for this,” she whispered, moving closer to her friend. “Now there will be no more, no more will the pyre burn for our people,” she cried, holding a hand to her mouth. 

Merlin nodded joyfully, “never again.” The corner of his mouth slid up, “and certainly not with you as Court Sorceress.” 

The lady batted a hand at him, tutting at him. “Enough of that, today is your day.” She beamed, “today is the day you and Arthur unite our peoples.” 

* * *

Arthur and Merlin stood side by side in front of their respective thrones, smiles on their faces and many of those in the court; some might have been less pleased than others, but times would soon change. Attitudes would soon change. 

“Today we have united two peoples not long ago separated,” Arthur proclaimed to the hall, “and I hope this will help us enter a new era of peace.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue, dedicated especially to Apex_Calibre (and every other Uther hater out there... so basically everyone in the fandom, right?):
> 
> Arthur wandered out later in the day, excusing himself from the feast following the ceremony that went off with great success; if there were nobles who disapproved of the marriage, they certainly did not want to miss out on the food, so wisely kept quiet for the time being. No doubt he would have issues later on, but at the moment, he had other things on his mind. For starters, he had definitely drank far too much already. 
> 
> When he came upon the grave that he used to visit regularly, now far too neglected for a king, he took pause for a moment. The ceremony, perhaps, was enough to have the dead man turning in his grave. But WAS it enough? Of course, it might have just been the wine in his system, or the elation he felt at finally having found peace, but his brain was adamant that it certainly was not. The new king turned his head this way and that, but the coast was clear, with every noble and his dog happy to feast for the rest of the evening, and Merlin and Morgana were happy to finally be able to chat openly. Even Gwen, his only other option as a voice of reason, was at the meal. 
> 
> There was little time to consider his actions, anyway, and the wine in him was working fast; even if he had ultimately decided to give the dead man some dignity, - which he most certainly had not - it was far too late now. 
> 
> As he returned to the banquet, feeling positively refreshed, he smirked as he hoped Uther was watching him wherever he had ended up. 
> 
> \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> Well, this brings an end to the tale! I'm so happy I've actually finished something like this haha, and I'm really glad there were plenty of you along for it. I've been grateful for your responses, and I hope you like this final chapter, too - you can let me know, I'm here always! 
> 
> I was also having thoughts for a sequel, since this one has only introduced the primary characters: I want to get the knights involved, I want a search for the Holy Grail, and I want Cenred being annoyed and buying more and more leather. Although, maybe not. Maybe he's just mad and he wants to take Camelot on his own anyway. Maybe Arthur's looking for the Holy Grail.  
> Let me know if you'd be interested! I'll probably still write it, so sorry if that's not what you want, but I will not force you to read it, don't be afraid! 
> 
> Okay anyway this got way to long (maybe even longer than the chapter), so in summary: thanks so much!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Looking for Freedom Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26273023) by [QueenoftheBritons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheBritons/pseuds/QueenoftheBritons)




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